Protect and Serve: To Serve
by Lasarina
Summary: Lane's story continues as she arrives in Edoras. Lane knew what it was to fight for the honor of her country, but she has never fought to help save innocent lives. And a closeness has grown between Legolas and Lane, but will their friendship survive it?
1. Can't Stay Here

**Chapter 1: Can't Stay Here**

"It is not your place to alter the course of this world. Nor to save those marked for death."

I turned in a circle, trying to determine where the deep stern voice had come from. Nothing met my gaze, only blackness for as far as I could see. Reaching out with my hands, I tried to find something to grasp. Yet only emptiness met my fingers.

"Am I dead?" I asked, surprised by the calm of my voice.

I had the impression of amusement, though I could neither see nor hear it.

"You have not yet passed from the plane of the living."

"Then where the hell am I and what the hell is going on?" I huffed.

"This is not Hell, least not as I understand it from your world's dogma."

"What's going on?" I repeated in a slow angry tone.

"Your actions have been as such that I felt it time to speak with you," he spoke, the sternness returning.

"And just who the hell—who are you?" I turned around, trying to pinpoint the direction the voice was coming from, but it seemed to be all around me. "Where are you? This talking to a disembodied voice thing is clichéd and creepy."

At once, I was standing back in the forest at Parth Galen, the scattered bodies of Orcs and Uruk-Hai all around. Laid against a nearby tree was the bloodied body of Boromir, his sightless eyes still gazing up at the treetops.

I stepped towards him when another man suddenly appeared beside Boromir's prone form.

"He's dead. But the others should have returned his body to the river," I said lowly. "Why is his body still here?"

The other man waved a dark hand over the body and it disappeared. "Indeed. They have given the son of Gondor what burial they could," that deep voice responded.

He turned to face me, and I took a shocked step back at the face that matched the deep resonating voice.

"James Earl Jones!" I exclaimed. "Fuuuuck, I've gone crazy again. Haven't I? Or I'm still crazy."

He looked down at himself in confusion. "Who pray tell, is James Earl Jones?"

"You don't know who you are?" I couldn't believe I was even having this conversation.

"I certainly know who I am. However, as one of the Valar, your mortal mind cannot withstand my true form. I appear to mortals as they wish to see me. It is your mind that has chosen this form."

"And my subconscious chose James Earl Jones?"

"It would seem."

"Huh. You do kinda sound like him, but I suppose that's my subconscious at work too." I looked at him suspiciously. "If you say 'Lane, I am your father,' I'm gonna know I'm crazy."

"I do not understand this reference."

I shook my head. "Why am I here? Why are _you_ here?"

"To help you understand why you cannot interfere with fate." His voice and face narrowed, bordering on angry as he spoke.

"You mean trying to protect Boromir?"

"Precisely."

"What did I do wrong? What would it have hurt?" I demanded, stepping away from the scene of carnage and looking back down the hill I'd come running up to save Boromir.

He came to stand beside me as we gazed through the forest. "All things exist in a tenuous balance." He explained, his voice taking on a flat affect. "Strength and weakness. Light and dark. Life and death. Each must counter the other. Change the course of one, and the pendulum will swing wildly in the other direction to achieve balance once more."

"Saving Boromir really would have changed that much?" I asked, not turning to look at the James Earl Jones doppelgänger. It was hard enough having this conversation while listening to his voice.

"Must I truly answer that?"

I sighed, knowing the truth. "No."

Knowing it didn't change my regret at the necessity of his death. Boromir remaining alive would have been a domino effect. Without it, Denethor would not be driven mad by grief and would possibly fight Aragorn's rise to the throne. And ever loyal, had Boromir lived, he would have sided with his father. Aragorn's people might very well be split on their own loyalty, whether to support their ruling Steward, or their returning King.

What of Faramir's happiness? Without Denethor's grief driving him to madness, Faramir might not be sent out to reclaim Osgiliath, and if he were not injured, he would not be in the healing rooms to meet Éowyn.

And if Boromir still lived, he would not regain the honor he'd tarnished in his attempt to take the Ring. In death, he would receive an illustrious funeral performed by celebrated warriors and friends.

As a soldier myself, I knew it was no little thing to live without honor.

"Just because I know what the outcome had to be, doesn't mean it was easy to live with," I finally told him.

"The things that must be done are oft the hardest to 'live with,'" he agreed. "Keep their courses from being traveled and you may very well die with it. This is a lesson you must remember. You cannot change fate without consequence."

Hearing the spoken and unspoken threat, I turned to face him. "If you're so worried about me screwing the fate of this world up, why don't you just send me back to my world," I snarled. "Why am I even here?"

"That I cannot say. How you came to be here is puzzling even among the Valar," he calmly responded.

"Look, how doesn't really matter to me. Just send me back."

He finally turned to look at me, slowly shaking his head. "Do you truly wish to return to your world?"

"No. But I don't want to screw up this world either."

"It is not so simple a task to transport you from one world to another."

"And yet some old Gypsy woman could do it. Come on, just what kind of powers do you have, James?"

He grunted. "The magic that brought you here was an accidental deviation in powers."

"Great. It's an accident that I'm even here. Where do I belong now?"

"It may have been incidental that you found your way here, but you have etched out a path here. Removing you from the circles of this world would not be easy nor pleasant. Yet I fear it must be done. The world of your birth must also be the one of your death, else balance shall be lost."

"So what am I supposed to do? What's going to happen to me?"

"The Valar have not decided. We are split on the matter."

"Except for you not so subtly threatening me about changing the course of this world," I commented.

He tilted his head as he looked at me. "Do you know who I am?"

"You mean you're not James Earl Jones?" I laughed derisively. He continued staring, a disconcerting sight since he wore so famous a face. I crossed my arms. "I'm guessing by things you've said that you're Death. Although if you are, I don't know why my mind doesn't picture you with a scythe and black robe."

He tilted his head and stared at me, seeming to see into my very being.

"I do not understand this portrayal of 'Death' in your world. Yet I would venture you do not see me as such because this visage is meant to be frightening and I do not believe you fear dying any longer."

I shrugged. "I openly welcomed it once. I guess I have lost that kind of fear of you, Death."

"I hold dominion over more than simply death. I was called Námo; the Judge of the Dead, and Keeper of souls in my Halls of Waiting."

"So you really don't look like James Earl Jones?" I wondered.

He stared at me, and as I gazed back, the illusion wavered. Beneath it was a face that held all the features of every face that had ever been and none of them at the same time. Almost like an image in rippling water—it was ever changing. Then, the illusion slipped back in place.

I stepped back nervously.

"I am neither fearsome nor evil. I deal evil to evil, but those of goodness receive justice in my halls. All receive justice in one form or another," he explained.

"But you're still warning me not to mess with fate?"

His face darkened. "I am explaining to you that regardless of what the other Valar decide, if you change the balance of the lives under my dominion, I will deal you a fitting end in return."

He stepped back, and suddenly I was no longer in Parth Galen, but staring up at the gray sky as my back connected roughly with the ground.

"We're sick of carting these prisoners around," the large Uruk that had tossed me to the ground proclaimed as he straightened.

Even in the gray sky, the small amount of light was too bright. My head pounded as my vision blurred and dark spots flashed in my vision. As the throbbing in my head continued to beat an erratic tempo, I rolled over onto my side and heaved the contents of my stomach. Even when my stomach was empty, my abdominal muscles continued to constrict as I dry heaved.

I forced deep breaths and closed my eyes, eventually regaining some control, though the pounding in my head continued. Still on my side, I opened my eyes again to take in our surroundings. I pulled my shirt up and glanced at the purple bruises on my stomach. The Orc must have carried me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

Rolling over, I was relieved to see the hobbits. Merry appeared to be sporting a similar wound to the back of his head, and hadn't quite come around yet, but Pippin was worriedly looking about.

"It's okay, Pip. Everything will be fine," I whispered to Pippin.

"Quiet, you!" an Orc growled as a kick landed in my hip when I rolled away from it.

I rolled further away and gritted my teeth, refusing to let them hear my pain. As I clenched my teeth and waited for the pain to pass, I considered my dream, vision, or whatever the hell that had been. Maybe I'd had some bad mushrooms or something.

Was it real or had it been a dream brought on by whatever damage my brain had received when I was knocked out? That made more sense, after all, if Morgan Freeman played God, maybe it made sense that my mind would come up with Darth Vader as Death or Námo—whatever.

I could hear the guttural voices of the Orcs arguing over something so I rolled back again and listened.

"Orders are we take the Halflings and the woman to our master. They are _not_ for killing."

I looked over at Pippin's terrified face. "It'll be fine," I told him in a bare whisper.

Then one of the Orcs cut the bands of rope at my ankles. Grabbing my throat, he yanked upwards as I scrambled to get my feet under me.

"They must be good for sport then," said the Orc still squeezing my throat from behind me, "and only one kind of sport a woman could be good for." He laughed then at his proclamation, a sick distorted sound.

My hands were bound in front of me, but I still managed to throw my right elbow into the Orc's side hard enough to loosen his grip on my throat. When his hand fell away, I spun around to face him as I backed away.

The Orc snarled at me and started towards the hobbits. "I don't have to kill them to get some sport out of the Halflings."

He pulled back his leg to deliver a kick to Pippin, but I stepped back towards him, swinging my leg forward to block the kick with my shin.

"Pick on someone your own size," I growled.

He whirled towards me, fist raised and swinging towards me in a punch.

I raised my bound hands and pivoted, letting the blow glance by.

"I'm gonna kill those Halflings and you," the Orc yelled, his anger escalating.

As he stepped towards the hobbits again, I stepped in front of him and drove my bound hands up into the middle of his face, enjoying the wet crunch of the creature's nose driving upwards.

I'd put all of the force in my arms into the blow and reveled at the sight of the Orc crumpling lifeless to the earth.

"None of you touch those hobbits," I bellowed.

Several more Orcs rushed towards me then, but the large black Orc who seemed to be in charge stepped in between, his large sword swinging as he dispatched several of his advancing comrades.

"Put up your weapons!" the large Orc shouted when the fighting had abated. "No more of this! We make for the stair, straight west. We will run day and night. Is that clear?"

I glanced at the hobbits, watching as Pippin covertly used the knife of a dead Orc to cut the bindings of his wrist and reloop them over his hands to hide his deed. _Ata boy, Pip._ He looked up and I grinned at him before wiping the expression from my face.

Order—or a facsimile thereof—finally restored, the large Orc, Uglúk, announced we were moving again and ordered the hobbits picked up again.

I glanced around at all the many Orcs, but knew there were too great in numbers to possible stop them. Merry and Pippin were roughly slung over the backs of Orcs, but none of the Orcs stepped any closer to me.

"You run now," Uglúk growled at me.

"What does your master want with me?"

"The master thinks you know something and wants your knowledge. Now run."

My blood ran cold at his words, but I knew enough to realize I couldn't let my mind dwell on it.

Having no other choice, I nodded and fell in line with the Orcs, running awkwardly because of my bound hands.

At least they hadn't been smart enough to rebind my hands behind me.

* * *

><p>By the time the Orcs stopped again and tossed the hobbits to the ground, I was heaving from my awkward running and battered body. And my head felt like it was about to split open.<p>

As I bent over to regain my breath, I watched them cut the ropes on the feet of the hobbits.

Merry was starting to come around, and one of the Orcs cruelly yanked the bandage from his head and smeared a dark ointment over his head wound.

I was so focused on Merry that I didn't notice another Orc come up behind me until the harsh and swift kick to the back of my knees forced me to collapse. With a rough yank at my nape, the Orc slathered a similar foul smelling goo to my own head wound before grabbing my scalp and yanking my head back to pour an equally foul liquid down my throat.

Sputtering, I leaned forward and kicked out blindly at the Orc, barely connecting but thankful for even that little bit. At least he walked away.

"Hullo, Pippin, Lane!" Merry forced out cheerfully. "So you've both come on this little expedition, too? Where do we get bed and breakfast?"

"Hullo, Merry," I returned. "No bed and I think that was breakfast."

"None of that!" Uglúk snarled. "No more talk!

Soon we were running on again, three guards around each of us. I kept the two hobbits in front of me, wanting to keep an eye on them.

I watched with glee as Pippin dove from the pathway under a brush, pulling his brooch from his cloak and dropping it on the ground as the Orcs pulled him back into line. Pippin was becoming wily and maturing before my very eyes.

* * *

><p>Hours or even days later—I'd long since lost track—we finally stopped again.<p>

We were all given stale bread, more foul smelling draught, and what appeared to be pieces of raw dried flesh. The hobbits flung the meat away, unnerved by its ghastly appearance. I flung it away too, reminded too much of my previous stay in captivity.

At least this time, I had the hobbits to fight for and protect. I wasn't utterly alone this time.

On we ran again, but now there was a real air of nervousness among the Orcs, for now, we were being tracked by a band of horsemen from Rohan.

As we ran, the riders hemmed the band of Orcs in against the forest, some of the riders firing their bows and bringing down Orcs as we ran. One arrow sliced across my right bicep, painfully grazing my arm as I silently cursed the aim of the Rohirrim who didn't know we were captives among the Orcs.

* * *

><p>The next time we stopped, I gratefully collapsed on the ground and shut my eyes, letting sleep take me. The hobbits had been carried on and off, but I'd been forced to run ever since I'd come to.<p>

Commotion and loud clashes suddenly woke me; I sat up to see the Orcs running about as the Rohirrim attacked. Pippin had his hands free and was freeing Merry from his bonds.

Pippin ran towards me and pulled at my bonds, but the ropes were tightened from my running and pulling at the bonds, making the skin raw and swollen.

I pushed him away, knowing they couldn't waste time. "Go, Pip. You and Merry get out of here."

"We can't leave you, Lane," he protested.

"I can take care of myself, Pip. You two have to make for the woods. You'll be trampled if you stay here. I'll be fine. Go and don't stop," I ordered, pushing him away.

Thankfully, he listened, turning and grabbing Merry as they ran away together.

My nap had given me a slight boost in energy, and my adrenaline was kicking in, erasing the feel of the aches and pains and the wounds that still bled in favor of my instinct to survive.

I stood just as an Orc grabbed me and delivered a punishing blow to my midsection, I turned away from it, but the blow still caught me low in the ribs.

Spinning and forcing my elbow into the Orc, I cast about for a weapon. Nothing was in sight.

Then I remembered the ivory hairpin Galadriel had given me. Long, straight, and sharp. I reached over my head and yanked the hairpiece out, my braid uncoiling down my back.

The Orc ran towards me again, knife raised overhand. My bound hands thrust my makeshift stiletto in an underhand motion, driving it up under the Orc's ribcage.

I slid my bloodied makeshift weapon into my belt, and grabbed the knife from the Orc's limp hand, wedging it between my knees as I sawed on my bonds, cutting my hands in my haste, but my hands were finally free.

A horse streaked past me as I stood, the swinging sword of its rider barely missing me.

With a growl, I grabbed a discarded Orc sword, swinging the heavy coarse blade at the nearest Orc. Best way to make the Rohirrim see I wasn't an Orc, was to start fighting against the Orcs.

I pushed pain and fatigue from my mind. Focusing instead on each movement and each placement of my feet as I wove around the dwindling Orcs, cutting through one after another.

Hearing footfalls and heaving breaths behind me, I spun and slashed downward with my heavy blade, the sword catching against the block of another sword.

I started to pull back and attack again when my brain finally registered what my eyes were telling me, that my blade had clashed with another mortal's blade. A human.

One of the Rohirrim stared back at me from on foot, his eyes wide with shock as he took in my appearance.

I looked around to see the last of the Orcs finally being dispatched by the roving horseman, their spears darting out at anything still moving.

My blade fell away, dropping from hands that once again registered its overwhelming heft.

The Rohirric soldier on foot said something to me, but I didn't speak his language and stared blankly back at him.

He stepped closer. "Are you badly injured, my lady?" he asked in Westron.

I glanced around again, and then down at myself. My clothes and skin were streaked black and red. The stinking black blood of the Orcs covered me like a canvas with my own red blood swirling eclectically in homage to an abstract painting.

Even the wound to my arm that I'd received the day we'd been captured was bleeding again. My head wound too no doubt.

There hadn't been time to consider my wounds much before, but now, I could feel the itchiness of dried blood on my head and arm that hadn't been washed away. Now, more would join it.

"You are safe, my lady," the man told me as he cautiously approached. I must have seemed either too dangerous or too fragile for him to approach so carefully, and I feared it was the latter.

"I'm Lane," I informed him as I felt my knees buckle.

The ground was fast approaching as my eyes fluttered and closed again.

* * *

><p>My eyes opened lazily to the sight of a thatched roof. Strange thoughts and emotions of concern and worry overwhelmed me.<p>

For several panicked moments, I was afraid I couldn't shut the thoughts out, but a little bit at a time, I was able to rebuild my barriers and close off the thoughts.

As my body actually shook with the effort of closing the thoughts out, I was startled to realize that this was the first time I'd heard anyone's thoughts since I'd first woken up in the captivity of the Orcs. Shocking to realize that I hadn't noticed it's absence until it came rushing back.

Was it possible my head injury had disabled my disability? If so, maybe a splitting headache was a small price to pay for the normalcy of not hearing others' thoughts.

I pushed up on my elbows just as a woman came bustling into the room with a tray. She laid it down and rushed up to me, clucking in what I assumed now was Rohirric, and pushing me back into the bed.

"Where am I?" I asked her as I allowed her to push me down again.

Her head tilted as she looked at me. "Lord Éomer said he wasn't sure if you spoke Rohirric." My eyebrows shot up at that. I wondered if he was the one who'd been fighting the Orcs on foot before I blacked out. "You are in Edoras, my lady, and have been for two days."

"'Two days?'" I repeated in surprise.

"Aye, you've been resting for two days and you need many more." She spoke Westron well, but her accent was heavy, forcing me to really listen to catch all her words.

"How did I get here?" I asked the plump woman as she bustled about. Her hair had probably once been a stunning strawberry blond, for it still held the rumor of the color, but the color had faded and streaked with gray.

She came back to the bed I had been laid in carrying a bowl of broth and a goblet. I reached for the goblet first, eager to chase away the cottonmouth sensation. Surprisingly, it wasn't water that met my lips, but light, sweet mead.

"One of the riders of Lord Éomer's éored was sent back to Meduseld to bring you to the safety of the Lady Éowyn. She tended your wounds but bade me keep you safe within my house," she explained. I was grateful her speech had slowed down, making her easier to understand.

"What do you mean 'she bade you keep me safe'?" I repeated as I set the goblet down and slowly started on the broth. I felt famished, but my stomach had been empty for days and was already clenching at the liquid unexpectedly filling it.

The woman leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, "Tis no longer safe within the Halls of Meduseld. I worked within those halls since I was a child, but the Lady Éowyn has sent nearly all the servants away. The others do not realize, but she fears for their safety and honor while those with twisted tongues lurk about. The King no longer knows friend from foe. They say just this morning Lord Éomer was arrested and jailed upon his return."

She shook her head sadly and continued, "No, 'tis not safe to be about the Halls of Meduseld for those who have an association with his lordship. You're safest to remain here until you've healed, child. A miracle it is you yet live after your captivity among such foul creatures."

"What do I call you?" I asked, rather than think about what was already done.

"Oh! Bless me!" she flustered. "You may call me Byrde. I forgot my manners. And how should I address you, my lady?"

"Lane. Just Lane. None of that 'lady' business."

"Of course, whatever you wish, child."

I smiled at her motherly tone and pushed the bowl away. "Thank you for your kindness, but I think that's all my stomach can handle for now."

She gathered the bowl and patted my shoulder as she stood to leave. "Rest, dear."

I waited until she'd closed the doors and drew back the bedspread. I was dressed in a loose, undyed cotton shift. My left forearm was wrapped in bandages, as was my right bicep when I pulled up the sleeve. Wiggling on the bed, I pulled up the shift to examine the shades of purple and green covering my stomach.

Where an Orc had kicked me in my hip was still darkened nearly black and quite tender even to movement. Without much flesh there, I knew the bone itself was bruised and would be slow to heal.

But as I sat up, the sharpest pain was the grating in my lower left ribs. I gasped and struggled to control my breathing. Probing the rib, I found nothing out of place, but the pain was so sharp, I knew the rib had to be cracked even if it wasn't completely broken.

My head still seemed to be splitting open, but I could feel the threads of stitches along the gash. No bandage could adequately stay on the back of my head, but it had been stitched well and didn't appear to be bleeding.

Altogether, I felt like I'd gone a few rounds with a meat grinder—and lost—but I knew no permanent damage was done.

Rest would be a wonderful luxury, but there was nothing so badly injured that I'd do any harm to it by getting up. My joints and muscles felt sore and stiff from my inactivity. The bruises would hurt, no doubt, but my muscles would eventually loosen if I got up and stretched them some.

I stood on shaky legs and allowed my muscles to refamiliarize themselves with holding my weight. I felt like an old woman as I crossed the room to stand by the short dresser. Several of my things were laid out on top and my boots on the ground next to a stool. My clothes seemed to be gone, but miraculously, my cloak was clean and neatly folded on the dresser. The clothes I assumed were torn and bloodied beyond repair, but I was shocked the cloak wasn't as well.

My jackknife from my boot was on the dresser, along with the photos I'd kept wrapped in soft suede in my jerkin. Pulling my shift away from my chest, I reaffirmed that the necklace Galadriel had given me and my dog tags were also still in place.

My fingers lightly caressed the long ivory hairpin Galadriel had given me, lying beside Andreth's shorter pin. I hadn't understood Galadriel's knowing smile when I'd coiled my braid and slid the hairpin through it, but I realized now, she'd probably known just how her gift would be useful to me.

It was no longer streaked with black blood; Byrde must have cleaned it as well. It was once again clean polished ivory.

A plain dark brown dress and unbleached underskirts were also laid out on top of the dresser with a cream-colored blouse. Determined to stay up and moving, I reluctantly exchanged the sift for the dress. Not much of an improvement in my opinion, but at least I'd be able to walk outside without creating an uproar.

I was just finishing tying the laces down the sides of the dress when I felt the pressing of several minds closing in. Moving to listen at the bedroom door, I heard several deep voices making obvious demands in Rohirric.

"The child is still healing," Byrde's angry voice announced, suddenly becoming clear over the din of angry Rohirric words. "Just what crime could she possible be guilty of? She's not even awoken yet." I realized my caretaker was deliberately speaking loudly and in Westron so I would hear her words and take warning. I just prayed the guards didn't pay it any attention.

"Our orders are to bring the woman before Lord Gríma and King Théoden. There her fate will be decided."

My breath caught. I knew Gríma was in league with Saruman, who had in fact ordered my own capture as well as the hobbits. I still didn't know why, but I was damn sure I didn't want to wait around to find out from Gríma.

I shoved my boots on; thankful the skirt of my dress was long and would hopefully hide the boots not made for dresses.

My jackknife and bundle of photos I slid into my boot next and then I knotted my hair into a bun, sliding the ivory hairpin through the knot. Andreth's hairpin I quickly slid onto my necklace and tucked into the blouse.

I cast about the room, but had no other possessions but for my cloak. I hadn't seen my bag or weapons since that day at Parth Galen, and I regretted their loss, though it would make my escape easier now.

The bedroom had no outside door, but did have a small window with the shutters pulled closed. Carefully opening them, I peeked out to see the back of the house I was in was butted closely against the back of another, leaving a narrow walkway. Which was blissfully empty.

With gritted teeth—and many choice words under my breath—I hoisted myself onto the windowsill and finally through the window onto the ground. My ribs and arms were screaming from the maneuver, demanding that I stop and rest, but I could hear the voices of the guards getting louder and angrier as they argued with Byrde. She wouldn't be able to hold them off much longer.

Shuffling down the narrow alleyway with my cloak under one arm, I made my way towards the concentration of noise and the heart of the city. It would be easier to get lost in the crowd.

As I skirted the edge of a house and into the bigger thoroughfare where I snatched an apron and a large headscarf off a clothesline. They were still slightly damp, but dry enough.

The headscarf was over-large, but would nicely hide my features and hair—including the distinctive ivory hairpin.

Thus attired, and walking with my head down, I was able to disappear into the tide of Rohirric people bustling down the road as they went about their day.

As a scout, I knew how to blend in with the local populace and avoid capture. It would be no different here.

I sighed deeply as I considered my situation—and then cursed myself as the action caused a stabbing pain that ran along my ribs.

I could avoid Gríma's men for a few days. And then, Legolas would arrive with the others. And I would be safe.

Provided I caught no one's attention between now and then.

Piece of cake.

I was only half starved from my time with the Orcs, and damaged enough that my gait more resembled the hobble of an old woman.

_Yeah, piece of cake, all right. Maybe I should walk up to Meduseld now and tell them to just throw me in with Éomer. _

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thanks so much for sticking with the story and joining us for part two!

If you're at all interested, I made some banners for the two stories, and you can find their links on my bio page.

Thanks again, and let me know what you think!


	2. Once, I Knew Fate

**A/N: **Wow, awesome response to the first chapter of part 2! Thanks so much you guys! And welcome to all the new followers.

In thanks to all of you wonderful readers and reviewers, here's a bit longer chapter. A lot happens in this one, so get ready!

**Chapter 2: Once, I Knew Fate**

I continued down the dusty lane. As the light faded in the sky, people thinned from the streets, finishing their busy tasks and returning to their homes for the evening.

My muscles had relaxed slightly with the movement, but the aches remained. Weakness still plagued me, and I knew I needed something more substantial than the broth I'd eaten earlier.

Question was: where would I find it?

I glanced up at the end of the street. Meduseld glinted in the fading red and pink rays of dusk. A slow smile spread across my lips as an idea came to me.

It was bold. Very bold. But I'd never been accused of being meek.

And I couldn't keep wandering the streets. When they emptied as the Rohirric denizens went home, it would become obvious that I didn't belong. I had to find somewhere to be, and something to do.

Plan in mind, I continued towards Meduseld with new determination.

* * *

><p>Keeping my head down, I quietly and confidently entered the back servant quarters of Meduseld. Doorwardens had guarded the front entrance of the great hall, but as I suspected, no one guarded the servant entrance.<p>

Carefully making my way down the hallways, I marked where the kitchen, dining hall, and other important areas were. As Byrde had mentioned, the great hall seemed emptier than I would have expected. And the servants I did pass in the halls paid me no attention at all.

Of course, it helped that I was dressed as one of them, but they also seemed somber and withdrawn.

_Because the king's son is dead_, I recalled. That was why there was a pall cast over this hall and even the city. Without the grief casting their eyes downward, they may have noticed that I didn't belong.

With the cover of their grief, I was able to easily slip among them. My cloak was hidden in a corner under a layer of blankets, and then I calmly walked into the kitchen and grabbed a serving platter full of bread.

As I carried the platter, I pulled a piece of bread off it and slipped the chunk into my apron.

Byrde had said many of the servants had been sent away, but I'd been right in assuming they couldn't all be sent away. Several were still needed to cook and serve the meals.

The dining hall itself wasn't very full either. A few soldiers and guards were scattered throughout in small huddled groups at the long tables. I weaved throughout them, distributing the bread until my platter was empty. Then I returned to the kitchen to help the other servants distribute whatever else was ready.

In between my trips, I snuck bites of bread and other food, even some mead from a clay pitcher.

And still, no one had seemed to notice I didn't belong. Thankfully, I also completed my "tasks" efficiently enough and no one seemed inclined to speak to me. No one within my hearing anyway, seemed to speak Westron, and I had no hope of understanding the Rohirric language of this place.

But my mind could interpret the grief that clung to this hall. I'd gotten used to being in Lothlórien amidst Elven minds. I hadn't realized until now just how much easier their thoughts were to shut out. How much softer their thoughts seemed to me.

My body ached, and my mind was fast joining it as I struggled to perform my simple tasks without stumbling from the onslaught of grief and despair these people felt.

And the hall was far from full.

A light feminine voice caught my ear as I continued serving in the dining hall. The nearby voice was soft and friendly. So far, none of those eating in the hall had been women, and none of the servants present had seemed inclined to speak.

Curious, I turned to glance at the voice, only to see her making her way towards me, a kind, but curious expression on her own face as she approached me.

Then, she met my gaze and froze, a startled look on her young face.

The girl couldn't have been past twenty years old, with a comely face creased by recent grief.

But I didn't recognize her the way she seemed to recognize me.

Finally, I marked her loose blond waves and the white gown much too fine for a servant girl. And I realized this had to be Éomer's sister who had first tended to me. Éowyn.

Her gaze darted about the room worriedly and then settled back on me. I held her gaze and nodded once in thanks, lowering my face and emptying my pitcher of mead before gathering discarded dishes and leaving the hall.

When I glanced over my shoulder as I left, Éowyn had disappeared.

* * *

><p>After the meal was served and the dining hall cleaned, I watched several of the servants exit the hall. However, some remained and pushed a few tables aside to lay out pallets for sleep.<p>

With relief, I took some blankets as well and lay down on the smooth stone floor a little ways apart from the others.

I figured sleep would find my weary body quickly, but my mind was still overwhelmed with the strange sounding thoughts of these people.

Tossing and turning, I tried to find a comfortable position, but stone was less forgiving than the ground had been.

Eventually, the buzzing thoughts around me shut down as people fell asleep, and I soon joined them.

* * *

><p>The next morning was busier and fuller in the dining hall than the night before had been.<p>

I made a few trips with food until I had snuck enough to eat, and then I slipped back out of Meduseld.

My body was stiff in protest at my night on the unforgiving stone floor, but I still felt refreshed from the sleep and food.

Once again, I wandered the streets, my head down as I waited.

Waited for my friends to return.

* * *

><p>I spent the morning wandering side streets and watching the people of Edoras. The adults were still somber and withdrawn, but the children ran and played happily. Playing the silly games only children understood and ignorant to the troubles of their parents. They were happy in their ignorance and I wished they could hold onto it forever. That this war would never come closer and touch them. But I knew it was inevitable.<p>

That afternoon, as I neared Meduseld again, I heard and felt the excitement of the people. The doorwardens were barring the excited and curious citizens from entering, but I knew Legolas and the others had to have come.

I turned away from the main entrance, and slipped around to the back servants' entrance. As before, it was unguarded.

Yesterday, I'd avoided going near where I assumed the throne room was, but today, I headed straight for that part of the great hall. The center of the buzzing excitement.

Several of the armed Rohirrim tried to bar my entry from the room, but I easily ducked under their arms and darted past their startled gasps.

King Théoden stood near the dais talking to the white cloaked Gandalf. I hadn't seen the king until now, but I'd seen his image in the minds of his people, and I was startled by his transformation. Some of it was purely physical, but more than that; it was that he once again radiated strength and power. It was so strong, even his people, mere humans, could feel that power.

Aragorn stood near the king and wizard, but I didn't see Legolas or Gimli.

Finally, I spotted the man who'd been fighting the Orcs on foot when the Rohirrim attacked them. He was partially faced in my direction, and was talking to someone as he made placating gestures.

Pushing closer, I was able to finally catch his words.

"I am sorry; I cannot say where she is. My sister told before I was imprisoned that she had given the woman into the care of another for healing. I have not spoken with my sister since my release, but did hear the guards say she was to be imprisoned if she could be found. I am afraid I have naught for other news on the woman you seek." His voice was deep and rich as the rolling hills of these lands. Drawing closer, I could see his handsome face bore more than a passing familiarity to Éowyn's.

"You gave your word that your soldier had seen our companion safely to Edoras," Legolas's angry voice returned.

"Aye lad, and telling us the lass was to be imprisoned doesn't strike me as upholdin' your promise of safety." There was no mistaking the deep angry gruff of the dwarf's voice, and as I pushed around the last soldier, I saw the elf and dwarf facing down the king's nephew, though the man and elf were of equal height and the dwarf shorter.

Yanking the headscarf from my head, I quietly spoke to their backs, "Damn I'm glad to see you guys."

Elf and dwarf spun to face me in unison, and I grinned at their synchroneity.

Legolas stepped towards me and instantly wrapped me in a hug. I tried to mask the pain at him grabbing my cut arm at the bicep and squeezing my still sore ribs, but he felt anyway and stepped back, his hands dropping to lightly grasp my hands as he examined me.

"Forgive me," he breathed in an anguished whisper. "You bear injuries. Tell me what happened, Elaina."

I grasped his hands thankfully in return. "It's nothing, I'm fine. I'm just so glad you guys are finally here."

He ran his hands lightly up my arms, pausing at the bandages on my forearm and bicep. Pushing my left sleeve up, he paused at the sight of my bandaged wrists from where my hands had been bound, then he started to peel back the bandage on my forearm to inspect the wound, heedless of my assurances that I was fine.

"Perhaps you would like a more private area to talk," Éowyn's feminine lilt offered. I glanced over to see her standing beside her brother, her head and eyes cast downward as a blush crawled up her cheeks.

Legolas and I both looked up to see we were gathering some attention. The nearby soldiers couldn't hide their curious looks at the sight of an elf's obvious regard for an even more obviously mortal woman.

"Please," Legolas replied to Éowyn as he grasped my hand and wrapped an arm around my waist to gently guide me towards her. I started to object, but his hand squeezed my hip as he looked me in the eye and repeated a heartfelt, "Please."

I glanced at Gimli.

"I'm glad you're alright, lass," he whispered. "Go on."

Nodding, I silently followed along out of the hall, briefly stopping to snag my cloak from its hiding place under the blankets.

I was surprised when Éowyn led us down a hallway and to an empty bedroom, but Legolas merely turned to her and thanked her.

He called to her again as she left. "Could you send someone to bring my belongings from the entrance? The king, I think, will agree to return our weapons to us."

She curtsied in a way I was envious of since I doubted I'd ever be able to imitate such a graceful maneuver, and then she left, gently closing the door behind her.

Now alone, I set my cloak on the dresser and turned back towards Legolas. Anguish still marred his features forcing me to reach out, cupping his face and smoothing my thumbs over his brows, trying to wipe the look away. "It's okay, I'm fine," I told him.

He caught my hands and gently kissed one palm before leaning into me and pressing his forehead to mine. My heart rate and breath sped at the closeness, but he only looked into my eyes, his hand gently holding me still as it settled on my nape.

"I feared you would be lost to me," he whispered. "Boromir said you had been taken, and I feared we would not reach you in time."

"But I'm fine," I assured him.

He suddenly dropped his hands and spun away from me. After pacing several steps, he stopped and whirled to face me again.

"How could you so foolishly endanger yourself, Elaina?" he snapped angrily.

"Foolish?" I repeated, my own anger rising.

"Boromir said you tried to push him from the path of an arrow. That you were taken trying to defend the hobbits when he fell. You knew he would fall, did you not? You should have stayed away or at the very least, stayed by my side so I could protect you," he angrily bit out in return.

"I don't need you to protect me. And yeah, I knew about Boromir's death. Where else could I have been? I couldn't just let them shoot him down—"

"No!" he interrupted. "You could not simply allow his fate to take him—you tried to interfere and save him. What if you had been killed in the process? What then?"

"Was I supposed to just stand there and watch him die? I had to at least try to stop it. Do you think I fear death?" My voice rose to match his, until we were both nearly shouting.

He strode closer to stand with only inches separating us, staring down at me as he spoke. "It is quite apparent you fear not death. What of _my_ fear? You seem uncaring of your possible demise, but _I_ fear your death greatly."

His words took the wind out of my sails. "You're mad at me because I could have died?" I clarified to us both.

It seemed to pull him back from the edge as well. "I am mad with fear," he whispered. "I love you, and you were nearly lost to me."

I stopped breathing at those three little words.

He noticed and sighed. "Do you not feel likewise for me?" he asked in a broken whisper.

I reached between us and grasped his hand again. "I don't want to lose your friendship. And how can there be anything more between us? You're an elf, and I'm mostly human." I threw my hand back towards the throne room we'd just come from. "Look at the reactions of those men. They're mortals too and just you hugging me shocked them. What would elves think of you—a prince—with a lowly woman like me?"

He grasped my hand tightly in return and gestured wildly with his free hand in the same direction I had. "I care not what thoughts these humans hold on such matters—"

I knew he hadn't meant to be offensive, but I still tugged on his hand and laughingly growled, "Hey, I'm mostly human too, remember?"

He smiled slightly. "I care only what thoughts you hold regarding this matter," he finished.

"You're immortal. You'd have to watch me die and then what if you faded? You can't fade," I insisted. I knew his fate. It was to build the last ship to sail to Valinor. His fate wasn't to love some woman from a strange world.

"Immortal does not preclude death. Nothing is certain nor unending. These days are dark and fraught with evil and peril. I wish to spend what time Eru allows me loving you," he returned, equaling my insistence with his own.

I dropped his hand and turned away. "But that's not your fate," I whispered.

For a long time, he was silent, not refuting my words. Then, his hands gently descended on my shoulders as he turned me back around to face him.

"You said you did not see your own fate in this world, yes?" I nodded in agreement to his words. "Then you have not seen my fate. Least, not all of it. You are held higher in my heart than all else, and if you have not seen yourself in my fate, then you do not see it all. Perhaps the Valar protect you from bearing whiteness to your own fate. If so, perhaps this is why you do not see mine accurately. For I know you hold a place in it."

Before I could respond, a knock sounded at the door. "I have your belongings, my lord," a quiet voice called. A young boy by the sound of his youthful pitch.

I turned away to gather myself as Legolas went to the door.

"Strange it seems to see you clad as a servant in plain dress and apron, though I do not argue that even such plain softness becomes you," Legolas said behind me. "But knowing your preferred attire is not of dresses, I should think you would prefer a change."

I turned to see him holding out my bag to me, along with my sword, bow, and quiver.

"You brought my things?" I asked in shocked surprise, eagerly accepting my bag. "I can't believe you carted all that across the plains."

"I carried them in the hopes that I would find you yet in need of them," he offered with a sad smile.

I held the bag and gave him a grateful hug with one arm. "You know me well, this really isn't my style," I laughed as I gestured to the plain brown skirt.

But my mind again paused on that. He did know me well. Better than anyone else ever had. Nevertheless, the thought of loving him—of giving him my heart, and the ultimate power over me—was terrifying.

"Why are you so dressed as one of the Rohirrim—as a servant?" he asked, oblivious to my inner quandaries.

I briefly explained my time in Edoras as I removed the purloined apron and dug through my pack.

"Why would this man wish you imprisoned?" Legolas asked of Gríma's actions.

I glanced up at Legolas as I pulled clothes from my pack. "He acted on Saruman's orders. The Orc's took me on Saruman's orders too. Said it was because he wanted what knowledge I had or something. Question is: why does Saruman want me? What does he think I know?"

I grinned when I found that even my bracer and archer's glove were in my bag. I hadn't thought about them, but the Orcs must have taken them off when they stripped my other weapons away. At least they'd left my hairpin and the knife in my boot.

His brow furrowed. "Mithrandir thought it was Saruman causing the snow to fall so heavily when we tried to cross the mountain pass. Perhaps he marked your crossing the mountain alone to wait for our passage underneath," he offered.

"Maybe. I hadn't thought of that when I made the decision," I agreed.

"You knew Mithrandir would return to us," he whispered.

"Yeah," I offered with a sad smile. "I knew what his fate was."

"How badly were you injured at the hands of the Orcs?" he asked, nearly spitting the last word and effectively changing the subject.

"A few cuts, some bruises, and a large knot on the back of my head," I answered simply.

"Tell me what happened after the Orcs took you and the hobbits. We could read some of the tale in the tracks we found, but I wish to hear your story."

I told him the events as best as I could remember them, leading up to waking again in Byrde's home. My conversation, or hallucination of Námo, I kept to myself. Whether it was real or not, I figured that was just for me. At least for now.

He moved closer, standing behind me as his hands deftly slid over the back of my head, lightly feeling beneath the knot of my hair at the large bump there and tracing the stitches in the gash. Turning me, he again slid my sleeve up and peered under the bandage on my forearm. My other arm received the same treatment as he examined the bicep. Then he carefully probed my ribs where I had earlier flinched in his arms.

"They're just bruised, maybe cracked at worst, but they're getting better," I assured him.

Eyes darting back up to mine, he asked, "What more?"

"Just various bruises," I again assured.

He nodded. "I thank Eru you were so fortunate."

I turned back to the dresser I'd set my pack on and gathered the clothes I'd laid out. Facing Legolas again, I realized he was continuing to wait in the room. I glanced down at the clothes in my arms. "Umm…"

He laughed. "I had forgotten mortals are sensitive to such things," he replied turning around. "Elves do not find nudity shameful."

I responded with a laugh of my own. "No, it's not that I'm conscious about nudity—or at least I never used to be. It just seems strange with you, especially now. I haven't let a man see my body since North Korea." The men I'd had one-night-stands with since then hadn't cared whether I left my shirt on during sex. Quirks like that were expected in one-night-stands where your standards were lowered. "Men aren't usually too crazy about scarred women," I added, setting my clothes down again and toeing my boots off, standing barefoot on the cool gray stone.

I was just pulling at the ties that laced up the sides of the dress when Legolas slowly turned around. He reached out and carefully stilled my hands, pulling them away from my sides. His fingers gracefully pulled the laces free and then pushed the straps of the dress over my shoulders.

My body remained motionless. Allowing the dress to slip down my body and pool at my feet. Part of my mind told me that I was foolish to stand here unmoving, allowing Legolas to bare me before him, but I hadn't lied to him. The simple act of nudity had been worn from my moralities in the military and any leftover shred of it had been destroyed during my captivity in North Korea. It was the scars I didn't like exposing.

A part of me wanted him to see my body in all its imperfections. To see me as I truly was.

But truthfully, my body couldn't move as I held his gaze. Simply allowing his hands to slide up my torso and slip the blouse over my head.

"I am not a man," he reminded me when I stood wholly bared to him. His gaze lowered as he traced a scar that wrapped from my clavicle to my shoulder, left by a shallow knife wound. Then his fingers trailed around the edges of the black and purple skin of the bruise coloring my hip. "Your scars bear testimony to your strength. They are lovely to my eyes."

There was nothing sexual about the moment. Nothing sexual in his touch, but I still shivered at the sensation. The knowledge that he saw what no one else did. He saw the scars but he saw more than that. He saw not the horror of how the scars were made, but how it had changed me beneath those scars.

A loud pounding sounded at the door. "Uh, lass, lad," Gimli called as he coughed, "uh, Aragorn sent me to check on you both. The king is having a meal laid out as we discuss our next course of action."

I laughed at Gimli's obvious discomfort, and even Legolas smiled faintly.

"We'll be right there," I called out to Gimli.

I turned and began pulling clothes on again. I was just lacing the leather ties of my pants when I felt Legolas's fingers lightly tracing some of the worst scars on my back.

"Such cruelties they visited upon you," he whispered.

I shrugged and pulled a bra then a shirt over the scars. "I swore an oath to my country to never answer to enemy interrogation. Without exception."

Donning my cloak and weapons, I turned to face him, feeling whole and strong again for the first time in days. It was in part due to feeling the familiar weight of my weapons and the comfort of my own clothes. But it was more than that. In large part, it was due to the ellon standing in front of me.

"I love your strength and honor," he said, a smile playing on his lips as he looked me up and down, his own weapons and pack once again in place.

I looked away. "I'm no stunningly beautiful elleth. I'm not even a stunning beauty by the standards of man," I reminded him.

His laugh rang out in a sudden exhale. "Do you think all of the Eldar are so petty as to judge beauty only in physical form or do you think that true of only me?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm crass and crude and vulgar. I'm not a typical woman. And I'm certainly not like elleth."

He laughed again. "Ah, that had escaped my notice. Thank you for your insight." He lightly touched my cheek. "And I do find your beauty stunning."

"We should go before Gimli comes back," I replied, uncomfortable with his words.

His smile turned wistful again. "I will give you time."

I started for the door, grabbing my pack. "I don't know why you feel this way about me. I'm a mortal woman. I'm not right for you."

"Love knows neither sense nor reason, right or wrong. It simply is. I love your strength, your laughter, your smile, your kindness, even when I hate your lack of self-regard—I love you."

"'It simply is,'" I repeated. "And that's what's so destructive about it. That it doesn't know rhyme or reason. My mother loved my father for unfathomable reasons, but when she finally saw him—saw him for who and what he was—she couldn't handle it. She killed herself and left me with him. There is nothing that holds so much power over a person as love does."

His eyes softened in sympathy. "I would never see any harm come to you. You can place your trust in me," he answered.

Remembering something, I quoted, "'Love is giving someone the ability to destroy you but trusting them not to.'" I took his hand in mine as I reached for the door. "I'm not saying I don't trust you, but we're in the middle of a war, let's take things in baby steps, and just see if I manage to survive this war."

"I will give you time," he repeated as we walked back towards the main dining hall.

Whispers and glances were thrown our way at our still clasped hands, but when I started to pull my hand away, Legolas merely held fast and continued tugging me along. I smiled, not really upset by the looks from the Rohirrim. I'd been a female soldier serving in the Middle East. I'd suffered worse than curious and baffled looks or even the whispered words behind turned backs.

Legolas and I took the open seats next to Aragorn just down from Gandalf and the king. I sat easily beside Legolas, feeling closer to him even against my will. He'd seen me. He'd seen all of me. Not my body. Me.

He saw the story the scars told about who I was.

He saw what was behind the façade I put up for the world.

I looked up to see Gandalf and Théoden were busy discussing what havoc Gríma had wrought, and I found myself happily watching Gandalf as I ate. I had known he would return, but seeing him was somehow comforting. To know that it had actually happened like I'd known it would.

"I am sorry, Lane," Aragorn whispered beside me.

"What?" I asked, pulling my gaze from the wizard.

"For my anger, and my words, and for my actions after we exited the darkness of Moria," Aragorn clarified. "You knew he would be returned to us and I acted in an unacceptable manner." His gaze lowered apologetically.

"I forgave you when it happened. Don't worry Aragorn," I assured. "Grief can make anyone act out."

"Still, I offer my regret for my actions and words. I find it astonishing you held your tongue and did not speak of what you knew when I had such unkind words for you," he offered.

I shrugged as I continued eating. "I knew you'd find out when the time came. Besides, I've dealt with harsher words than anything you dealt out. They yell at you a lot in the Marines to toughen you up," I laughed.

Our meal was finished quickly and in relative silence for my part. The king spent most of the meal being brought up to speed on the news of his land and conversing with his nephew and Gandalf about what to do.

Afterwards, Théoden opened his armory to Gandalf and the three hunters. I followed along behind them, intending to grab a few pieces of armor myself.

The stares of the soldiers I passed were easy to ignore, and thankfully, the king hadn't taken any notice of me either.

"My lady," a feminine voice called.

I turned from following Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli to see Éowyn following behind me.

I nodded politely to her. "I'm told I owe you for bandaging and cleaning me up after they brought me to Edoras. Thank you," I told her.

She nodded in return. "I am pleased to see you up and about so soon," she responded. "And I ask your forgiveness for the troubles you received since you awoke."

I waved it away. "It wasn't your doing. And it's all over anyway."

She looked at me with a curious expression and I could see the questions in her eyes.

"Go on. Ask whatever it is you want to ask," I told her.

She blushed in embarrassment. "I merely wondered at your attire and weapons. Where do you hail from? I have never before seen a woman so armed."

Her statement surprised me. "I thought Rohan was the land of the shieldmaidens. Why would it be so surprising that I'm armed?"

"The women of this land are taught to wield swords, but we do not wear them as our men do. We are capable of defending hearth and home, but the daughters of Rohan have never ridden to meet battle," she explained, and this time I caught the wistfulness in her words. "The great tales and songs are only for the valiant soldiers of the Rohirrim."

"You're young yet, my lady; there will be a time when the tales and songs of valor tell of more than just the soldiers."

"I pray for such a day, yet I fear they are already beyond my recall."

"Those days will come," I repeated.

"Though dark are these days, blessed shall our eternal slumber be if we fall in such pursuit as those days you speak of," a deep voice behind me agreed.

I turned to see Éomer stride to his sister's side. He placed a loving kiss upon her brow and then told her, "I go now to ride out with the king, yet I could not leave without saying farewell to you my sister."

Before he could step away, she threw her arms around him and whispered fervent Rohirric words to him. He smiled fondly and returned the gesture and words.

Looking up at me he said, "My lady, I am pleased to see you are well. Your companions feared greatly for your safety. It is good you have been reunited with them."

"Just call me Lane, and yeah, I'm glad to see them again too."

"Lane," he agreed with a courteous nod. "Though it was impressive you managed to avoid capture by the guards serving Wormtongue, I regret such was necessary. You were sent to Edoras under my orders and I lament you received so poor a welcome. What can I do to atone for the reception you received?" he asked apology shining in his eyes.

I hesitated, considering my words. "I'm sure what I'm about to ask for is no small thing, but I find myself in need of a horse. Let me borrow one, and I'll consider the matter ended."

He pulled back, clearly startled. "You do ask much, for the horses of the Rohirrim are our most prized possessions. Yet I feel your reception in our city was quite grievous. I would grant this boon, but I wonder at your need. Wormtongue is cast from Edoras; you have no fear of safety here now. I should think my sister would welcome your company when we ride to war, for though I am oft away from the Golden Hall, I know she has been lonely here."

I smiled at Éowyn's hopeful look. "I'm pleased you would honor me with the privilege of keeping company with such an honorable lady, but it isn't my place to remain here."

He looked pointedly at my weapons. "You would ride to war?" he asked incredulously. "You narrowly escaped great harm at the hands of foul creatures. Riding to war is no place for a woman."

"You asked what you could do for me. Lend me a horse. My choices are my own to make," I responded flatly.

He studied me, looking to see how serious I was. When I didn't waver or blink, he gave a reluctant sigh. "Very well. It is an unfortunate testament to these dark times that so many of our steeds are riderless. I shall see that you have the use of one."

I could see the indignation in Éowyn's eyes and the protest forming on her lips. "No Éowyn," I told her, "I am not under your brother's, nor your uncle's rule. I can make the choices I wish, and follow no one's command but my own-you are a member of the House of Eorl. You have your own responsibilities to follow."

I nodded to them both, and left them with a short goodbye.

Soon, I had trailed down the halls and found my way to the armory where Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli were looking for appropriate armor.

Legolas and Aragorn were pulling shining chainmail over their clothes and choosing helms and shields to accompany their armaments.

They didn't notice my entrance, so I quietly entered behind them and started looking through shelves for chainmail that wasn't designed for the robust stature of most of the Rohirrim.

Gimli of course already wore finer chainmail than could be found in this armory, as dwarfs were the masters of metalwork. He had chosen an iron and leather cap however that fit him nicely and a small shield to go with it.

They all turned as I began sifting through a bin of chainmail.

"What are you doing, Lane?" Aragorn asked.

"Looking for chainmail that isn't made for an ogre," I grumbled with my head nearly in the bin as I dug.

Legolas's face fell as he sighed. "You mean to come with us," he stated quietly.

"What?" Gimli sputtered. "We thought you'd stay here, lass."

One piece of chainmail caught my eye, and I pulled it out to drape in front of me to gauge the size. "Thought I'd stay here with the women and children, huh? That's not really my cup of tea," I responded without looking up. "This is way too big isn't it? It would fall past my knees. Anyone see anything else that would fit better?"

I looked up to see my three companions staring at me.

Legolas stepped closer. I drew in a deep breath and prepared for an argument.

"Are you certain you do not wish to remain in Edoras until you have healed, Elaina?" he simply asked.

I smiled, realizing he wasn't arguing or trying to flat-out refuse me as he had in Lothlórien. "I've been hurt a hell of a lot worse. It's better than it was already and it's best if I keep moving and keep my muscles limber. I'll be fine," I assured him.

"You could have been killed by those Orcs, lass," Gimli rumbled.

"I know guys. But hell, I could get run over by a ca—a horse while trying to cross the street and get killed. But I've lived this long as a soldier and that's never an overly safe life to begin with. I'm not the kind of woman to sit at home waiting for word from the frontline."

"Very well," Legolas responded, though with obvious reluctance. He turned towards a bin nearby and pulled some chainmail out. Holding it up he added, "This should fit you as well as any here."

"You can'na be serious, lad!" Gimli growled.

Legolas handed me the chainmail, looking down into my eyes as he spoke to Gimli. "I would not order Elaina to act against her conscience even if I could. Though I shall ask that she endeavors to keep herself safe."

I took the chainmail, my fingers brushing his and lingering as I spoke. "I will. I'll be careful. But battle is unpredictable. I'll be as careful as I can."

Aragorn stayed behind Legolas, not offering any words, but eventually he nodded his own agreement.

I looked at the chainmail. It still looked a little big, but it was better than nothing. I wasn't familiar with medieval armor, but I knew they didn't stop even all arrows and swords.

"I wish I'd kept my bulletproof vest. It stopped a bullet, so I'd trust it to stop damn near anything in this world," I lamented.

Legolas smiled and turned around, stooping to dig in his pack on the ground. Turning he held something up. "I do not understand the name you give, but I think this is what you speak of."

Grinning, I grabbed the vest from his hands and straightened it out. "You kept this with you all this time?" I gasped in astonishment.

"You had not a pack of your own to carry it when we found you, but I thought you might one day wish for it. It seemed a useful piece of armor," he answered.

I pulled the vest over my head and smoothed the Velcro straps to hold it in place. The chainmail was still a little big, but with the vest underneath, it helped to fill it out somewhat.

Gimli held another helm out to me along with a small shield. I took the helmet and tried it on. It fit well, but would take a while to get used to, but it was better to have than getting wacked in the head again, even if it limited my vision a bit.

I looked at the shield Gimli held as I replaced my cloak. "I've never used one before, and it would probably only get in my way," I told him.

Finally armed, we all left to meet the others outside the Golden Hall.

Éomer fell in step beside me as the others turned to collect their own horses. He studied my new armor. "I have found a horse for your own use," he explained as he gestured to where another soldier waited, holding a large black warhorse. "His rider fell defending the Westfold and he shall bear you well."

I stepped beside the large horse, running the backs of my knuckles down his neck as he sniffed at me. "What's he called?" I asked.

"His owner called him Lightfoot in the common tongue," the other soldier answered.

Taking the reins from the soldier, I thanked them both.

Éomer nodded as he turned away.

I focused my attention on my new mount. He fidgeted restlessly, shifting his feet but remaining in place, as he'd been no doubt trained. I removed my pack and slung it over the front swells of the saddle, stuffing my helmet in the pack. I knew it would be useful, but that didn't mean I was going to wear it until I needed it.

The king's voice called out over the din of the soldiers, but I remained near my horse, looking him and the saddle over as I familiarized myself with him. I'd ridden horses before, but it had been a while.

"Are you familiar with horses?" Legolas asked behind me. "I remember you had explained your world used other means of transport."

I turned to see him riding a gray horse up behind me. "I've ridden horses before. It's just been a while. But, it's like riding a bike, right?"

"'A bike?'" he repeated.

"Never mind," I laughed. I grasped the reins and a piece of mane in one hand and lightly grabbed the swell of the saddle with my other, quickly swinging into the saddle as I had when I was younger. I fought a grimace at the pain in my ribs, but when I was settled upright, the pain decreased, only to be replaced by the tenderness of my hips in their new position.

I saw the concern in Legolas's face and assured him, "I'm fine. Just tender. I'll be okay."

Legolas didn't look convinced, but we turned our horses and rode closer as Éowyn was passing the Farewell cup around. I sighed to see her adoring look at Aragorn, but this too was something that couldn't be changed. Even if it seemed like a silly girlish crush to me, it was needed to drive Éowyn to the battlefield on the heels of her grief at not having him.

As we started away from the city, the king's eye finally fell on me. I was dressed as any of the men, but in a sea of over six-foot tall burly soldiers, I stood out. My slighter build was never going to pass for one of the Rohirrim. The elves had mostly been taller than me too, but at least with their slender builds, I had fit in more easily.

Riding closer to where I waited beside Legolas, Théoden drew closer, frowning openly at me. "Women will remain behind under the rule of Éowyn," he declared.

"My lord, I offer no offense by my words, but I am not one of your people. I go where I choose and I choose to go with my companions," I replied, keeping my voice soft and respectful.

"War is no place for women," Théoden replied.

"I am far from home," I countered, "but in my country, women are not forbidden from serving in our military. I served my people faithfully against our enemies, and now I offer my sword and bow in service to this battle. Are you in a position to turn down the experienced sword arm of any soldier, regardless of gender?"

He frowned as he considered my words.

"I am very far from the country I'd once served. I no longer have any home or country. What I have is my skill and my honor. And I offer them to you. But like I said, I'm not one of your people. You can't order me to stay, but you can accept my help."

He glanced at Legolas, no doubt looking for solidarity and support. I didn't glance away from the king to see how Legolas responded, but by the look on Théoden's face, Legolas didn't respond as he'd hoped.

The king sighed. "As you say, you are not one of my people. I cannot order you from this battle, so I shall accept your help and pray it is not a choice I come to lament."

I smiled gratefully as he rode away, and then we were finally leaving through the gates of the city.

Éomer—with Gimli behind him—Legolas, and Aragorn rode three abreast as we started across the rolling plains. I pulled my horse back, riding in line with several soldiers behind them. The Rohirrim watched me curiously and even a bit suspiciously. But as the miles wore on, the looks fell away as ominous realization filled the air.

We were headed to war.

* * *

><p>We paused briefly to rest for the night. Laying out pallets and blankets on the hard earth in scattered groups to rest.<p>

Aragorn and Legolas were spreading out their own blankets near an already snoring dwarf when I joined them and spread out a blanket of my own and dropped to the ground with relief.

I had quickly remembered how to ride a horse, but it still used muscles I hadn't worked in a long time.

Legolas lay on his back next to me, staring up at the stars. "How do you feel?" he whispered.

"Sore, but fine," I whispered, turning to face him.

Aragorn laid on Legolas's other side, his eyes closed as he folded his hands over his chest.

"We should reach Helms Deep tomorrow," Legolas whispered, rolling to face me as well.

I could hear the curious whispers of the Rohirric soldiers as they bedded down around us, and even feel the sensations of their curious thoughts, but Legolas seemed to be ignoring it, so I could as well.

Reaching out, I held Legolas's hand between us. The physical contact allowed his elvish thoughts to flow over me. I still didn't understand the words, but it was a relief to be awash in thoughts that somehow felt softer than the thoughts of the humans surrounding us. I sighed at the soothing sensation of his mind.

"You're mind is so soothing." The words slipped out before I thought about them, but I felt Legolas's startled response.

"My thoughts are soothing?" he asked. "What is soothing about what I think?"

I hadn't even realized my eyes had slipped closed, but I opened them and responded, "I still don't understand Sindarin enough to know what your thoughts are, but they're softer than human thoughts if that makes sense."

"I could teach you more Sindarin," he offered.

I shook my head. "Maybe someday I'll want to learn it, but for now, I actually like that I don't understand your thoughts. They're just background noise to me. Soothing."

He beamed and leaned closer to kiss my forehead. "Sleep. You need rest."

Still clutching his hand between us, I drifted off into an easy slumber. As I drifted off, I thought about how easy it could be to just give in to my feelings. It was easy with Legolas, easy to relax and let my mind go. Easy to be in his company and enjoy our friendship. And how easy it would be to let go of the last part of me that was holding back and keeping my heart from fully succumbing. But should I do it just because it was easy?

* * *

><p>The following day was quiet and bleak. But there was a new urgency in the Rohirrim as we rode.<p>

We pushed harder towards Helm's Deep and when Gandalf broke away to ride alone, the riders sobered even more. Some sense of futility settled over the riders for a time, but then new resolution filled them as they remembered the families they left behind. Families that would be in the path of Saruman's hordes if we failed at Helm's Deep.

I'd served in the Marines in many foreign postings, but I'd never fought on my own soil. Sure, I'd been a cop the last several years, but that wasn't the same either. These soldiers felt a sense of urgency and desperation to protect their families I hadn't felt before. They knew the likelihood of failure at the hands of the enemy, but they were still determined to meet whatever fate if it protected their people and families. Their wives. Their children. Their sisters.

Their determination filled me and gave me purpose. These weren't my people, but fighting and dying to protect the lives of innocents was a worthy cause. I was proud to stand by their sides and I would be proud to fight beside them. There was solidarity in them and their cause that I'd never experienced in the Marines.

In the Marines we went where we were told and fought when they told us to. But I'd never felt the sense of purpose I did now.

As we rode, I began to feel a sinister sensation crawling up my spine. The feeling flowed through me to Lightfoot, and the horse nervously danced from side to side as we rode.

Legolas noticed and dropped back beside me. "What is the matter?" he asked.

I didn't answer immediately, trying to pinpoint what the feeling was.

"Wargs," I whispered to myself, trying to decide where that decision had come from. Feeling the sensation draw even closer, I glanced up at Legolas's startled expression.

Howls rang out as the foul creatures broke over a crest and sliced through the line of riding soldiers.

My adrenaline spiked, and I centered my focus on the warg lumbering towards me. I pulled on the reins, wheeling Lightfoot around as the warg ran past.

The commotion around me faded as I slid my reins to one hand and pulled my sword out. Lightfoot was true to his name and easily wheeled and darted from side to side as I cut through wargs that ran by me. Their riders swung their own swords at me, but I continued to wheel my horse and duck in the saddle to avoid their blades.

Time was suspended as I focused on each move and each opponent.

My eyes took in the sights of spraying blood and my skin absorbed the feel of its stickiness coating my hands and arms. I knew the sights would replay in my mind when the adrenaline finally left me and this battle was done, but for now, they passed from one meaningless incident to another. All that registered at the moment was the next blade swinging in my direction. The next set of teeth bearing down on me.

Finally, I wheeled Lightfoot as I looked for my next foe. All around me the Rohirrim were dispatching the last of the wargs and their riders with their spears.

I spotted Aragorn on his horse wiping dark blood from his blade.

"You did well, lass," Gimli said in appreciation as he jogged up to me on foot, axe in hand.

"You too, master dwarf," I laughed, sheathing my sword and dismounting Lightfoot to stand beside him.

"Finally some action where a dwarf is of use. I was tired of bouncing uselessly on the back of some beast," Gimli grumbled as he nonchalantly examined the edge of his axe.

I looked up and around, looking for our absent elf.

"Have you seen Legolas?" I asked Gimli as I began to turn in a circle.

"I saw him shooting his bow as usual, lass. He should be 'round somewhere," Gimli responded, stopping to look around as well.

I told myself not to worry. I knew Legolas had to be okay. He survived the War of the Ring unscathed and then built a boat to sail to Valinor with Gimli. That was the way it was supposed to happen. That was the way the story ended.

Then I spotted his gray horse, Arod, standing several hundred feet away. I started jogging towards the horse, but somehow my feet began moving faster and faster. The soldiers I passed grunted in surprise as I ran by, but I didn't pay attention to them. My focus zeroed in on Arod, his reins hanging limply on the ground.

When I reached him, I looked him over for any signs that Legolas could have been hurt, and then turned to look wildly around. Someone was calling his name, and it took me several moments to realize it was me.

"Lane!" Gimli called.

I froze and fell silent at his words. Gimli never called me anything but "lass."

My legs slowly and reluctantly carried me towards the dwarf.

When I reached him, I saw that he was standing beside a tall drop-off overlooking a rushing river. Refusing to look down, I met Gimli's eyes.

He removed his cap and looked down over the drop-off. "I'm sorry, Lane," he offered in a broken voice.

I forced my eyes from him and looked down over the edge at the point Gimli's eyes were fixed on. Just over the edge, Legolas's quiver was caught by its strap on a jagged rock.

As though I was another person, I calmly knelt and reached over the edge, stretching to reach the strap and pulling it up into my lap.

"Where is Legolas?" Aragorn asked frantically behind me as he ran closer.

I fell back to sit with my legs crossed, cradling the quiver in my lap. Not raising my eyes, I lifted the quiver so Aragorn could see it.

"We found this," I whispered.

"We must continue to Helm's Deep," Théoden's voice rang out.

I heard the sounds of the Rohirrim remounting and organizing behind me, but my eyes remained fixed on the quiver in my hands.

A hand descended on my shoulder and I flinched away from it. Not wanting comfort. Not wanting to need comfort.

"Come, Lane. We must ride to Helm's Deep. You know this," Aragorn gently spoke.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," I whispered. "Legolas has to build the last ship to Valinor and take Gimli with him," I continued, my voice coming out broken and harsh.

"Go get her horse, Gimli," Aragorn ordered quietly.

His hand descended on my shoulder again and I sprang to my feet, shoving him and his offensive and unwanted comfort away. "This wasn't supposed to happen!" I yelled. "He should be here! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"I'm sorry Lane. We must ride for Helm's Deep. War does not wait for grief, you know this," he offered gently.

His image wavered, and I touched my cheek, feeling the wetness of my tears. "I know that. But this is wrong. It's got to be a dream, right? He can't be gone." I turned and looked at the rushing water again. Rocks littered the area below where I stood, but nothing else.

"I've gone crazy again, right? This is like North Korea when I talked to the rats and the river, isn't it?" I glanced over my shoulder at Aragorn and Gimli as they exchanged a worried glance, clearly confused by my words. Then I remembered that they didn't know. They didn't know about my past or me.

Legolas knew.

He knew the story. He knew my story. He knew me.

"I'd rather be crazy again and have this not be real," I whispered.

"Come lass," Gimli offered gently. "We must go."

I didn't turn to face him. "It's my fault," I told them. "I thought I was trying so hard to keep from changing the story, but just by being here I've changed things. He should have been okay, but now, he's gone and it's my fault. I thought I had to keep from loving him so he would still finish the story right in case something happened to me. I never dreamed something would happen to him instead."

Aragorn grasped my elbow and gently turned me around, walking me towards my horse. "He is gone, Lane. We must continue to Helm's Deep and help save those that are left."

I moved to swing into the saddle, but couldn't force myself to mount the horse. Aragorn mounted his own horse and pulled Gimli up behind him.

He rode beside me. "We must go," he repeated.

I wiped away more tears and looked up at Aragorn again. "This isn't right. He should be here."

"As you said before we left Edoras, anything can befall any of us. Battle is unpredictable," Aragorn offered gently.

"But I knew," I told him, "I knew what his fate was supposed to have been." I held the reins and led Lightfoot back towards the others. "I knew," I repeated brokenly.

Everything had changed. My presence had changed it all and I didn't know what would happen any longer.

I didn't know what would happen.

Boromir had died even though I'd tried to interfere and save him. And Námo had warned me about changing fates.

Was this the punishment? Had he decided to take Legolas to punish me for my actions?

I knew I'd been fooling myself if I thought I had been keeping myself from falling in love with Legolas. I'd been afraid of the repercussions, but I'd already given him my heart, because it was now ripped from my chest.

I glanced over my shoulder at the ledge. "Damn you for making me love you," I whispered. "I told you love was destructive. And now you've torn me apart."

**A/N:** You know what to do!

And thanks again to everyone, you're all wonderful!


	3. The Making of Men

**Chapter 3: The Making of Men**

"Lass, we're here."

I jerked and looked down at the pressure squeezing on my toes. My gaze cleared and focused as I registered Gimli standing on the ground, his rough hands reaching up to tug on my foot as he vied for my attention.

Turning slowly in the saddle, I realized we'd somehow made it to Helm's Deep. Like driving home on autopilot, I'd somehow managed to ride along with the rest of the Rohirrim, all the while my mind shutting down in delicious numbness.

Gimli's comforting hand on my foot and his soft words brought me back to reality. To the awareness that we had arrived. And highlighting who hadn't.

I think I preferred numbness.

Aragorn came closer, already dismounted and leading his horse. "Come Lane. I'll take your horse and you can get some rest."

_What will it matter? It won't change anything. _"Okay," I softly replied, sliding from the saddle and feeling my legs nearly go to jelly beneath me.

Gimli's strong calloused hands steadied me until I'd regained my balance.

"Come lass," he said, still speaking in those soft deep tones. "We'll find ya a quiet spot to rest."

I shrugged. "Okay."

My body slowly and painfully shuffled along, following where Gimli's guiding hand at my back pointed me. The aches and pains that had disappeared with the adrenaline of battle had returned ten-fold. Made worse either from overexertion or perhaps from riding a horse for the first time in so many years.

Or perhaps my body knew what my heart and soul did and had merely given up too.

My mind was exhausted and couldn't keep the minds of the humans around me out. I felt them pressing all around me. Weighing me down and surrounding me until I felt claustrophobic.

"Shut up! Everyone just shut up!" I screamed, pressing my fingers to my aching temples.

Gimli and the Rohirrim near me looked at me in cautious and worried glances, but Gimli finally pressed harder on my back, pushing me silently along.

"I can't keep their thoughts out," I whispered to my dwarven escort.

"We'll find you somewhere quiet, lass."

"Okay," I whispered, still rubbing my temples.

I heard Gimli speaking with several soldiers and servants as we passed, clearly asking them something, but I didn't bother trying to listen to the spoken words when I was still overwhelmed by strange thoughts.

My eyes focused resolutely on my feet. Watching each footfall with detachment as Gimli steered me along. Until, Gimli was no longer pushing me along.

I looked up to see we were standing in a small storage room. Or perhaps it had meant to be a bedroom of sorts at one time. There was still a straw stuffed mattress on a box foundation along one wall, but the rest of the room was filled with woven baskets filled with food stores, and extra clothing and bedding.

"Why don't you lie down and rest, lass," Gimli kindly advised, once again steering me towards the bed.

"Okay," I again told him, feeling like the embodiment of inertia. Everyone wanted me to keep moving, to go forward—and if they pushed or pulled me along, I'd go. But when they stopped, my body returned to rest—the state it wanted to be in. If I wasn't moving forward, I wouldn't have to face the eventualities. Everything could just stand still.

Gimli pushed me back towards the bed, and my pliable body sank downwards towards the mattress.

But before I was seated, something caught and jerked my body to a stop. I blindly reached down, trying to brush away whatever was stopping me from sitting as Gimli wanted, but it wouldn't budge.

I looked down to investigate what was poking my side.

"I can't get this stupid thing—" I trailed off as I struggled with the culprit. My sword was wedged against the box supporting the mattress and jammed into my ribs as I tried to lower myself. I yanked at the sword, trying to free it so I could sit.

"I can't do this," I said, my voice quailing as I stood. Helplessness suddenly washed over me. I stood and covered my face with trembling hands, startled to find the skin they met slick with tears.

My body suddenly shuddered with the sobs I tried to restrain. Yet, my grief was stronger, and soon I felt the trembling of my body as I wrapped my arms about myself trying to contain the sight of my weakness.

"Lass, lass, it'll be a'right," Gimli shushed. I felt his arms, about me as he unbuckled my sword belt and pushed me gently backwards.

I fell gracelessly against the bed, my hands still covering my shameful reaction as I lost control.

My arms were tugged away from my face one at a time as I felt Gimli remove my bow and quiver, but as soon as he released each hand, I yanked them back to hide myself. To shut away the pain and grief. To hide from the world.

Several moments passed as I silently pleaded Gimli would leave and take his pitying sympathy with him. I just needed time alone to force my emotions away. Time to rebuild my hardened shell.

But as great shudders continued to silently wrack me, I suddenly felt the bed depress as Gimli sat beside me, wrapping his arms around my torso.

I tried to jerk away, but the powerful arms of the dwarf would not yield, clenching down like iron bands to hold me in place. Quietly shushing me and speaking in his native language. The words seemed harsh and stilted, yet it somehow fit the deep baritone of his voice.

Only one other being in this world or mine had ever seen me go to pieces like this. Only one other being had held me as my emotions tore down my barriers.

And that one being was gone.

Yet, here I was, safely ensconced in the comforting grip of Gimli's arms. My tears fell, and he only held me tighter as the floodgates opened.

My body and limbs melted, sinking further into myself as I curled inward and wrapped my arms around Gimli's torso.

My body tilted from side to side as the dwarf rocked my heaving, shuddering body.

His well-meaning comfort only served to fan the flame, my grief burning hotter and my tears falling faster.

No one had ever held and comforted me in this way. No one had ever granted me the kindness and congenial fatherly comfort I was now soaking into my soul. No one had rocked me in their arms and hummed comforting tunes. No one had held me in their arms with the silent promise to chase away the nightmares and ghosts.

And I reveled and despised that comforting embrace in turns. I delighted in his unexpected affection. But I loathed its sudden need.

"I may not understand what was between you and the elf, lass, but I do know the lad cared a great deal for you. He would have wanted nothing more than to know you were safe and well. He would be glad to know you are here safe. He would have been happy to give what he could to see you here safely," Gimli whispered, his words rumbling under my ear.

I closed my eyes, unable to speak, and my breath coming out in shallow gasps. My knees slid up to my chest as Gimli continued rocking me.

Soon, my breathing evened out as I lost even the energy to cry, and delicious numbness and darkness found me once again.

* * *

><p>My body was stiff when I opened my eyes again. I wiped at the crusted tears coating my lashes and pushed back the blanket that was tossed loosely over me. I was alone, and the room was mercifully quiet.<p>

Then I stood and redonned the weapons Gimli had left on the floor nearby. Legolas's empty quiver was also there, and on impulse, I slung it over my shoulder as well.

Sometime during my nap, cold resolve had found me again. I couldn't stay here and let myself continue to wallow in grief. There would be a time for feelings and emotion later. Now wasn't that time. Now was the time for battle—for war.

I understood fighting. I was familiar with it. I wasn't familiar with feelings and emotions.

Leaving my quiet sanctuary, I walked out into the hustling masses of the Rohirric people.

Eventually, I would have to find Aragorn or Gimli to know where I should station myself, but for now, I climbed the stone staircase to the battlements.

Standing high above the people of Rohan behind me, I gazed across the land. Darkness was falling, making the landscape hard to distinguish. So instead, I turned around and watched the Rohirrim as they prepared.

Soldiers scurried about; trying to insure the stronghold of Helm's Deep would be ready when the enemy came.

Men hugged their wives goodbye as they escorted them into the caves.

And mothers wept at the sight of mere boys being lead to the armory.

I struggled to breathe at the last sight.

I had been a soldier. I knew what it was to fight and die for your country, but these boys were children. They should still have been playing war, not going to die in one.

"They have hope for their people. For their families. And though young, they are taught and prepared for battle," Aragorn said, walking to stand beside me.

I was startled until I realized I must have spoken my last thoughts.

I glanced again at him and then turned back to watch the boys being led away. I remembered the elflings I had played with in Lothlórien, and tried to imagine them being girded and sent off to war like these boys.

"It just seems wrong for boys to go to war. If they survive, they'll never be boys again. It's like robbing them of their childhood," I told him. I shook my head. "Never mind. I know it's necessary, but that doesn't stop it from being heartbreaking. I've seen soldiers die, but those were men. Men who'd volunteered to fight for their country. These are kids fighting because they have no choice."

"Given the choice, these boys will fight to protect their family and homes," Aragorn gently reminded.

We lapsed into silence.

"You should be resting," Aragorn commented.

"I'm fine."

"You have suffered a loss," he softly responded. "It is understandable if you are not all right."

"I'm fine," I repeated. "We have more important things to worry about."

I expected him to argue or tell me that I was supposed to grieve.

Instead, he placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"You are a strong, honorable woman. And a fine soldier."

I covered his hand in return and squeezed.

We heard a commotion and turned towards the gate. They opened as a lone rider came through.

"Is that—" Aragorn trailed off as his hand fell away from my shoulder.

He turned and started down the staircase.

"Legolas," I whispered.

My feet stayed rooted in place as I passively watched Gimli and then Aragorn fondly embrace the elf after he had slipped from Arod's back.

He spoke quietly to them, and then Aragorn turned and pointed to where I still stood.

I watched as Legolas quickly mounted the steps, coming towards me.

My body was still immobile as he stopped in front of me and pulled me into a tight embrace. He whispered words in Sindarin, and then said in Westron, "Elaina. I am relieved you are well. All I could think of these past hours was making certain you were here and safe."

I pushed away from him. "I—have your quiver," I informed him, and then broke into peals of inappropriate laughter at my absurd declaration.

He smiled and cupped my cheek. "Indeed you do," he laughed.

My hands swiped at the tears running down my face, and then I cautiously laid a hand on his chest. "Are you really here? Are you really alive?"

He covered my hand with his, and I felt the beating of his heart under my palm.

"I am well," he kindly told me.

"I'm not crazy again?" I asked, hardly daring to hope. It had made more sense before to believe I wasn't crazy, after all, my mind didn't usually choose to make up the horrible things. In my hole in that prison, I had believed that I wasn't alone or that I had escaped when I hadn't. My mind didn't make up bad things to believe, it usually fabricated the things too good to be true. But now? Him being here and alive was the kind of thing my mind would make up when it wasn't true.

"I am truly here," he replied.

My hands carefully moved over his chest, examining the dirt and creases in his clothes. "What happened? What happened to you?"

He sighed and looked away. I tried to place the look. Was it—embarrassment?

"What?" I pressed.

"I fear I was not as focused on the battle as I should have been," he admitted, still not meeting my eyes.

I tugged on his shirt. "What? What do you mean?"

He finally met my gaze. "I was knocked from my horse by a passing warg rider and fell over the embankment into the river. It was swift and swept me downriver some miles before I was able to swim from the water and begin my journey back. Fortune graced me when I found Arod waiting for me to carry me here more quickly."

"Yeah, but how'd you get knocked from your horse?" I asked in amazement.

He glanced away again, but then steadfastly met my eyes. "I was concerned about you and fear I was watching you instead of focusing on the battle around me."

"Legolas," I sighed. "I can fight. You don't need to watch over me. It isn't safe. Shit like this happens," I said, gesturing to him.

"Yes. You can fight. You fight very well. It was truly enjoyable to watch," he answered, smiling in appreciation. "Your swordsmanship is yet crude," he laughed, "but it was beautiful to watch you move—even seated upon a horse."

I laughed along with him. "Excuse me. We didn't use swords in my world. I've only been using one for a few months," I said, still laughing.

"God," I suddenly choked, my laughter stopping dead and my breath catching until I hardly felt I could breathe. "You're really here—you're alive—you're real—you're here—" I said haltingly, tears blurring my vision.

He pulled me into his arms and I clutched him tightly in my own. He didn't speak, didn't offer any useless words that would do nothing to change what had already happened.

When my breathing had finally calmed, I sighed in contentment. "Thank you for not dying."

He chuckled at me, likely laughing at the absurdity of my gratitude.

"I love you," I whispered. "I do."

He stiffened in my arms. "You do not have to say this when your emotions are so chaotic," he whispered to the top of my head.

I took a deep breath and pulled back to look up at him. "I don't do emotions and feelings well. I act and try not to dwell on it. But when you died—when I thought you died—all I wanted was for you to be back so I could tell you that I loved you. So I'm telling you. No thinking about it, I'm just telling you."

He searched my eyes, and I held his gaze resolutely, letting him see my sincerity.

"No."

"What? What do you mean, 'no?'" I repeated incredulously.

"I shall wait. This is not how I wish to hear you say those words. I will wait for you to say them when they come from your heart. When you truly mean them," he insisted.

"But I do mean them," I maintained.

"I want more," he whispered.

I waited, not knowing what else I could say. But somehow, I understood wanting more.

"You don't want to settle," I whispered. "I don't know if I have more to give right now. I don't know if I'm ready."

"I know. I know you are not ready yet. This has happened quickly for you and I know you are not ready. I can wait. It shall mean more to me when the words are heartfelt."

His head lowered until his forehead pressed to mine, our eyes closing at the shared contact. "I shall not likely be able to convince you to go with the other women and children to the caves and to safety, shall I?"

I opened my eyes. "You're the one that almost died, here. Maybe you should go to the caves where _you're_ safe," I argued.

His own eyes opened slowly, laughter twinkling in their blue depths. "I thought not."

A throat cleared nearby. Legolas and I broke apart to see Aragorn and Gimli had come closer.

"What news have you of the ground you covered on your journey here?" Aragorn asked, throwing an apologetic look my way.

"Armies of Isengard are descending on this stronghold, I fear they shall be here ere long," Legolas replied even as a rumble of shouts sounded in the distance.

"We should inform the king," Aragorn said, again in that apologetic way of his.

I smiled faintly. "It's okay. War never waits." I turned to Legolas and pulled his empty quiver over my head. "Here. It's empty, but you can probably find more arrows somewhere," I told him. "You guys go talk with the king."

I started to turn away, but Legolas grabbed my forearm. "You shall not accompany us?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head. "I'll go find my own place on the parapets." He looked startled, so I continued. "We've can't fight beside each other. We'll be too worried about one another. This'll be safer."

His jaw clenched, but then he nodded.

I stepped closer. "The military in my country didn't allow family or even people from the same areas and hometowns to serve in the same companies. It was so if a unit got into a bad situation in battle, a city or family wouldn't lose all their young men. I knew that, but I never really understood or agreed with it. I thought if families and old friends were allowed to fight alongside each other, they would fight better trying to protect each other and pushing each other. They'd have each other to fight for. But I get it now. It's too distracting. I'm terrified of letting you out of my sight, but it would be worse if we were constantly looking over our shoulders for each other." And perhaps if I wasn't there, I wouldn't alter the outcome of the battle to come for my friends. If I wasn't here, maybe it would play out as written.

He nodded and pulled me into his arms, wrapping me in a crushing embrace. I squeezed him back with all my strength and laid my head on his chest.

"I do love you," I whispered into his chest. "Please don't die."

He tilted my head up to look down into my eyes. "I shall fight with all the strength within me. I shall fight to hear you say those words without fear in your voice. Only joy."

I reached up, pulling his head down as I stretched onto my toes and carefully kissed him. His eyes slid closed, and I allowed my own to follow suit as I savored the softness and warmth of his lips moving against mine. I dropped back onto my heels, ending our kiss.

It had been soft—chaste even—but a fire bloomed throughout me, chasing away any of my leftover aches and pains and easing the remaining ache in my heart.

I smiled as I stepped back from him. "I like that you aren't easy," I told him. "I like that you demand more. That you want more. I may not be there yet, but I'll get there. I'll get there. Just don't die again."

"I expect you to live through this as well," he returned intensely, and then he turned and walked away, Aragorn and Gimli trailing after him.

Gimli turned back one last time.

"Watch him," I whispered to him. "And thank you."

His ears heard me, even at the distance, and his eyes softened as he nodded. Then he too turned and was gone.

* * *

><p>I leaned against the built up stone fortifications of the parapet. Rohirric soldiers stretched out along either side of me along the parapet, bows at the ready as they nervously waited. I had removed my cloak and hidden my pack in preparation for the upcoming battle, wanting nothing to slow me down or hinder me. In exchange for them, I had taken out my helmet, struggling to get used to its weight and the limit to my peripheral vision.<p>

Commotion built as pained screams and war cries rang out. I could hear the garbled language of the Orcs as they screamed and the pained cries of men as they retreated from the Dike and through the gates of the Deep.

An old, gray-haired soldier hobbled as quickly as he could to pass behind us along the parapet.

I stepped back towards him. "What's going on?"

He looked startled at my presence, no doubt startled by my gender, but then he glanced over the parapet and shrugged. "The armies of the White Tower have come and driven back the men of the Westfold still holding the Dike. Archers are to hold their fire until the Orcs are within range. We cannot waste even a single arrow," he explained in a gruff and accented voice.

The old man turned and continued his running hobble, so I stepped back up to the low wall, leaning to look around the taller upright. As I watched, I saw the glittering of spearheads shimmering in the darkness. It gave the illusion of a morbid rippling pond, but ever-moving and coming closer.

The soldier to my right began repeating something over and over in Rohirric. The litany caught my voice, and I realized from the high cracking pitch of the payer, that he was just a boy. Shorter and smaller even than I was at five-eight.

I placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, smiling when he jumped at the contact. "It's alright to be frightened," I told him, hoping he understood Westron.

He jerked and looked up into my face at my words. "You are a woman," he gasped in a thick accent.

"Yup, but I'm here now, fighting with you and your brave people."

The boy looked away. "I am not brave. I _am_ frightened."

"Like I said, it's alright to be afraid."

He looked up and down the line at the other soldiers. "They are not afraid. You are a woman and you are not afraid. You stand here along with them waiting for the battle to come. I want very much to run and hide again in my mother's skirts along with my younger sisters," he said, shame coloring his cheeks.

"Fear is good. And I can guarantee you that every soldier here is afraid. Me included. I've been a soldier for my people for many years, and I was always afraid. And I'm afraid now." I turned him bodily, forcing him to look up into my eyes. "Fear _is_ good. It means you've got something to lose. It means you've got something to fight for. And I've never been more afraid in battle than I am right now."

"You stay even though you fear?" he whispered.

"Yes. I stay because I still have hope. Hope for the future, and hope for your people. Hope that boys like you will see the morning light as men."

The angry shouts of the Orcs came closer, the sounds of the human Dunderlings with them now becoming apparent.

The soldiers around us strung their bows, waiting for the enemy to come closer.

I held the boy's shoulders, not yet turning to face battle. "What's your name?"

He pressed a fist to his chest and bowed slightly at his waist. "I am named Gárwine, son of Gárulf."

I released his shoulders, returning the gesture. "I am called Lane. And I'm honored to fight beside you, Gárwine."

Together, we turned and faced the coming tide, drawing arrows. I nocked my arrow, but realized Gárwine beside me hadn't. I relaxed my arms and glanced at him.

"I am not a strong archer, and Gamling said we were not to waste a single arrow," he quietly admitted.

Before I could answer, several arrows struck the parapets around us. I heard the low thwacks of soldiers releasing their arrows on either side of me. I glanced up as arrows struck the walls too high above us and fell to the stone floor of the parapet.

I pulled my arrow back again and released it, aiming for the weakness in the armor of the Orcs at the base of their neck. Silently, I gave thanks as it flew straight and true. Aiming a bow wasn't the same as aiming a sniper rifle, but I had learned to accommodate for the differences. And I'd certainly fired both a rifle and now a bow for longer than Gárwine had.

Nocking another arrow, I threw over my shoulder, "Set your quiver beside me, Gárwine, and gather the discarded arrows that those Orcs fire."

He nodded eagerly, and ran to start gathering arrows as I continued firing.

Soon, the battle became heated, and I couldn't stop to watch Gárwine, but I heard his startled gasps as arrows landed near him.

"Keep your head down, Gárwine," I shouted at him, now reaching into his quiver as I had fired my last arrow.

Hours later, my body was still vibrating with the thrum and excitement of battle.

"What are they doing?" Gárwine asked, leaning to look over the edge of the parapet.

I paused, leaning to look over too. "Get back!" I yelled, grabbing Gárwine's shoulder and yanking him away just as a grappling hook was launched over the edge and struck the wall of the Deep behind us. I swung my bow over my back and grabbed the knife in my belt. Pushing at Gárwine, I gestured for him to take his knife out as well.

"Cut the ropes," I ordered, pointing to the other grappling hooks being thrown over the parapets.

Gárwine and I passed each other many times, running along the wall, cutting the ropes of grappling hooks as swiftly as we could. But then, Gárwine's pained cry caught my attention. I turned to see him holding his bleeding forearm as he struggled to regain his feet. I quickly sliced through the thick rope of the grappling hook that had struck him, knocking him down and just beginning to pull tight against him and trapping him against the outer wall of the battlement.

But as I knelt over him, trying to help the boy to his feet, another heavy grappling hook was launched over the edge near us, glancing off my helmet and the echo of it ringing in my ears.

"Dammit," I growled, pulling Gárwine and myself further behind a taller portion of the parapets. I looked around us. Up and down the line of the wall, the bodies of fallen Rohirric soldiers littered the walkway. Most pierced by Orc arrows, some struck as Gárwine had been by the grappling hooks.

"There's too many of them," I told Gárwine as I watched more and more hooks sail over the edge. "And not enough of us," I whispered to myself. "We've got to pull back," I told him in a louder voice.

He nodded, and I stood, pulling him up behind me and keeping a hand on his shoulder as I pulled him along behind me.

At the top of the stairs leading to the ground near the gate, I paused, taking in the sight of the splintered wood and Orcs beginning to push through.

Unsheathing my sword, I turned to Gárwine. "How are you with a sword?"

He smiled grimly. The harsh horrors of battle aging him already. "I am best with a spear," he admitted, "but my father taught me well to use a sword."

I nodded. "Stay close behind me. We've got to make it down these stairs and past those Orcs to safer ground." I didn't wait for his response. Merely gripped my sword tighter and sprinted down the open staircase.

Several Orcs turned and started up the staircase towards me, several more waiting at the base. I had the advantage of the height, but maneuvering would be difficult on stairs. As Legolas pointed out, my sword work was rudimentary at best. Where I excelled was being able to outmaneuver someone with the use of swordsmanship and martial arts combined.

Without slowing my steps or my thoughts, I launched over the side of the open staircase, bypassing the Orcs and the last fifteen feet of the staircase. I landed on the ground, absorbing the hit with my legs, allowing them to bend as I dropped my shoulder and rolled, slowing enough to pop out of the roll and to my feet again.

Miraculously, I had kept my sword, and I ran at the startled Orcs, cutting through them as they watched me in shock. I met Gárwine at the bottom of the staircase, grinning as he dispatched the last several Orcs that had been advancing upwards between us.

He grinned as he met my gaze. "That was reckless!" he called over the din of clashing swords and armor.

I threw back my head and laughed. "Yeah, I guess it was. Come on," I told him, gesturing back towards the Keep.

More Orcs stood between us, but Gárwine and I began cutting through them, pushing forward foot by foot.

"Lane!"

I hacked through the Orc in front of me, my arms growing tired and my movements sluggish and choppy, but looked up at the gruff voice I recognized calling my name.

Gimli stood in the small opening of a rock wall fifteen or twenty feet away, gesturing frantically with his hands for me to come to him.

"Gárwine! You still with me?" I yelled out, looking around for the boy—no—the young man.

"I am here, Lane," he called to my left, his voice sounding as tired as I did, but still managing to cut through the onslaught of Orcs with more grace than I managed.

I spun and blocked the sword of an Orc as I jerked my head towards Gimli. "Come on, we've got to make for the safety of the cave."

He nodded and pushed closer to me, joining me as together, we pushed towards the dwarf. Gimli and several Rohirric soldiers, including the old man I'd spoken to on the parapet, pushed out from the narrow opening, fighting back the Orcs and creating an opening for Gárwine and I to run through.

Safely inside the narrow passage of the dark cave, I finally allowed myself to double over, bracing my hands on my knees as I lowered my head and tried to catch my breath.

Gimli joined me, leaving two of the Rohirrim to guard the narrow entrance of the cave.

"I'm glad to see you alive and well, lass," he boomed, clapping me on the back.

I winced at his echoing voice and heavy hand, but then grinned at the reminder. I was alive. Hurt just meant I was still alive.

"Yeah, I'm alive," I whispered to him.

The old man stopped in front of me as I straightened to lean back against the jagged rock wall.

"Never was I more shocked than in the moment I saw you cutting your way through the hordes of Isengard. A woman," the old man marveled. "Never did I think that I woman would last but mere moments in the heat of battle."

I grinned and held out my hand. "And never have I been more shocked to see an old man, bent, and grizzled with age, 'last but mere moments in the heat of battle.'"

For a moment, he stared in shock at me, no doubt shocked by my audacity, but then he chuckled and grasped my outstretched forearm, gripping it tightly with his free hand as well. "You have the form of a woman, but the mouth of a soldier," he laughed.

I grinned, glad that he hadn't taken offense.

He shook my arm once, and then released it. "I am Gamling."

I nodded respectfully. "I'm Lane. And I've got the mouth of a soldier in more ways than one. I'd kill for a beer, or ale, or hell, even some mead."

He chuckled again and lightly grabbed my shoulder, pulling me further into the depths of the cave where torches intermittently lit the dark interior.

"You ne'er said there was drink," Gimli groused, following along. "A drop of ale would do wonders for this dwarf after such axe work."

I grabbed Gárwine as we passed. "Come, you've more than earned a drink as well."

Gamling handed me a leather skin with liquid, and for once, I was thankful for the "protocol" that said ladies drank first. I sighed appreciatively at the surprisingly cool ale that washed down my dry throat, and then passed it along to Gimli.

Glancing again at the dwarf, I asked, "How was Legolas?"

He glanced away. "He was fine, last I saw, but we were separated."

I nodded. "He'll be fine. Come morning, you'll see. He'll be fine," I assured us both.

As the others drank, I looked around the interior of the cave at the soldiers gathered here. Most stayed near the front, sitting along the walls of the cave, their faces drawn and tight.

I felt my spirits darken as their feelings of futileness encroached on my subconscious. In the heat of battle, my adrenaline allowed me to easily push their minds away, but now that the adrenaline was subsiding, it took real effort to keep their thoughts out again. Not for the first time, I wished their minds were soft and gentle like Elvish minds.

I looked up to see the gaze of Éomer watching me from near the opening of the cave. I'd missed him when we'd entered. Walking closer, I stopped to lean against the wall across from him, only a few feet separating us.

"I must admit," he told me, "I too was surprised to see you pushing through that sea of creatures. I would not have thought a woman to stand when so many have fallen."

I heard the sadness for his people in his words, and glanced again at the entrance. But I couldn't see past the two men guarding it.

He looked that direction as well as he continued speaking. "It matters not. We can only hold this cave for so long before they push through even so narrow an opening."

"All isn't lost," I told him. "I wouldn't feel things were so futile if I were you. It's a narrow opening. And we only have to hold it long enough."

He looked at me curiously, but I turned back to Gárwine who had followed to stand beside me. I understood his need to remain close. We'd fought side by side for hours. A closeness forms in that camaraderie and those shared horrors that no words can accurately fit.

The cut on his forearm was mostly dried with blood, but some still dripped lazily down his arms and fingertips.

"Gamling," I called, turning to the old man. "Do you have bandages and perhaps something to stitch a wound in this cave?"

He nodded. "I saw to the supplies in these caves myself," he explained carefully examining Gárwine's wound before he hobbled off.

He came back with an armful of bandages and even a bowl of water. "The wound can be cleaned and wrapped, but stitches shall have to wait for healers if we yet live through the night," he explained.

I looked through the cloth bundle and saw that he had indeed brought needle and thread for the wound, despite his words.

"That's okay, I can stitch a wound just fine," I told him, dipping a cloth in the water and gently wiping Gárwine's arm.

Like the man he had become sometime during the night, Gárwine bit his lip and stoically bared the pain as I closed the wound.

Wrapping it tightly with cloth afterwards, I squeezed his shoulder and proudly told him, "You're a fine man, Gárwine. Your father will be proud."

He looked down as a blush colored his cheeks. "My father fell defending the Westfold from the Dunderlings," he admitted.

"Won't stop him from being proud," I replied.

He looked up at my words, confidence infusing him as his shoulders rolled back.

"You're the man of your family now in every way," I said, forcing a smile and hoping he didn't see the sadness I felt at that. It couldn't be changed, and he deserved to feel proud.

As the ambient light began to increase in the cave, I knew the sky outside must be turning to gray with the dawn.

I bumped Gárwine with my shoulder from where we sat and then stood. "Come on," I told him as he struggled tiredly to his feet. "You'll loosen up once the fighting starts again. Get ready," I told him, rolling my head and shoulders as I stretched.

Gimli stood on my other side and copied my motions and drawing his axe. "What will we find with the dawn, lass?" he whispered to me.

I smiled down at him. "Dawn always brings hope, Gimli. Never forget that. There's always hope."

As I spoke, the great horn sounded through the Deep, its echoes ringing even within the ground of our cave, rattling the rocks.

The guards at the entrance of the cave gave excited shouts and Éomer sounded the order for attack as we pushed out into the brilliant light of dawn.

I shielded my eyes with my sword-arm, the orange and pink rays of dawn, bright and blinding after our stay in the dim light of the cave. But the swords of Orcs soon slashed in my direction, forcing me to turn and dance out of their reach as I brought my arm down, swinging my sword to meet theirs as the macabre dance began again.

But hope now filled the air. For the first time since the battle began last night, victorious shouts and battle cries filled the air, the Rohirrim taking up the call one and all as their hope for not only surviving, but winning the battle surged.

On foot, I pushed along with all of the Rohirrim around me as we forced the remaining Orcs and Dunderlings from the Deep and back towards the walls and gate. As we pushed outward, new riders, led by Gandalf and Erkenbrand pushed inwards, cutting through the last of the enemy.

"We have won!" Gárwine shouted beside me. "Erkenbrand and Gandalf came," he said in surprise.

I laughed and threw my arm around his shoulders, basking in the sight of the cheering Rohirrim and the conquering riders who had come in our hour of need.

"Yeah, we won," I whispered to him.

Suddenly, strong arms pulled me away from Gárwine and engulfed me in a crushing embrace.

Even if I hadn't guessed at whose arms were wrapped around me, the faint sweet musk of the chest against my nose and the gentle thoughts now flowing over my mind would have given him away.

"Legolas," I whispered, my voice feeling almost weak with contentment.

"You are alive," he whispered against my ear.

I pulled back, and he brushed the many stray and frizzy hairs sticking to my sweaty and grimy cheeks away, slicking them behind my ears. I was almost shocked he could stand to touch me, but as I looked at the sheen of sweat and spatters of dark blood coating his own cheek, I realized it didn't matter. I wiped the streaks of black blood away from his cheek, and stretched onto my toes again to lightly kiss his cheek.

"You're alive," I whispered in return to him, a piece of my heart settling back into place. I hadn't realized until this moment, with him again in my arms, how scared I'd been that my presence would once more mess things up. That he'd die this time and not come back.

His eyes had closed at my kiss, but they opened again as I dropped back to my heels. "Yes," he answered simply, pressing a longer kiss to my forehead.

When he pulled away, I looked up to see him looking Gárwine over curiously.

The poor young man was rooted in place, shock, and awe written clearly in his expression at the sight of the elf.

I stepped closer to him, clasping him on the shoulder as I introduced him to Legolas. "This is Legolas, an elf from the woodland realm," I said, remembering that Legolas did not flaunt nor even really seem to care for his father's royalty. "And this is Gárwine," I continued, "who fought long and hard by my side, all through the night."

Legolas stepped closer and bowed his head respectfully to Gárwine as he wrapped an arm around my waist. "My thanks, dear boy, for fighting alongside my lady," he told Gárwine.

I almost laughed at him calling me his lady, but ignored it and looked at Gárwine objectively; trying to see him with new eyes, as Legolas no doubt saw him. As I'd seen him last night.

I realized that for all the transformation I saw spring forth in him now, to the eye, Gárwine still looked like a boy, maybe no more than thirteen or fourteen years old.

Wrapping my own arm around Legolas's waist, I gripped his opposite hip tightly in return. "Gárwine is a man, Legolas. He began the night as a boy, but with the new light, he has become a man," I spoke softly, turning to look up into Legolas's eyes.

Gárwine stood taller and proudly rolled back his shoulders at my words, but Legolas and I held our shared gaze, sharing the moment of mourning for the death of the boy that Gárwine had been, just last night.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Wow! I continue to be amazed by all of the kind reviews! You are all awesome, and you make my day and kick me in the butt to keep my motivation going and keep me writing.

I had intended to get this chapter out sooner, and sorry for the cliffhanger, but work and real life kept getting in the way. At least this time, I don't leave you with a cliffhanger!

Next, we'll move on to their journey to Isengard!

And also, I've been trying to figure out if or how to work the movies into this story, and I guess for the sake of ease, we'll just pretend for Lane's benefit that the movies never existed. At least Peter Jackson's movies. I have used bits and pieces of them in place of book-verse, but we'll just pretend for the sake of ease, that Jackson's movies were never made in Lane's world and so she wouldn't know anything about them or any of the different plot-lines that emerge in the movies.

PS, I normally respond individually to reviews when I can, but to those of you who review anonymously, many, many thanks to you as well! Especially to Laemeka who left me some of the nicest and longest reviews I think I've ever gotten. You're a peach, and thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you're liking the story and appreciating some of the things I've been trying hardest at, like not just reiterating parts of the story that everyone already knows from reading the books. That's been one of my number one goals, so I'm glad to hear I'm succeeding there.

Thanks again so much for all of your reviews, and again, if you're just joining the story, welcome!

You know what to do!


	4. Try to Keep the Faith

**Chapter 4: Try to Keep the Faith**

Legolas and I turned away from the celebrating Rohirrim and started back towards the Deep. As we walked back, I grabbed the helm I'd removed earlier and set on a low wall. I started to tuck it under my arm, but Legolas gently pried it from my hands.

"How did this happen?" he asked, tracing an indented crease along the top with a long elegant finger.

"Oh, a grappling hook glanced off my helmet as I went to help Gárwine," I commented.

Legolas immediately halted and grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop as well. "Turn around," he commanded, gesturing with a twirl of his hand.

I childishly rolled my eyes, but did obediently turn around. His fingers cleverly found the bump along the top of my head that corresponded with the rent in my helm. Though his probing fingers were gentle, I barely managed to keep from flinching.

"The skin is not broken," he pronounced, "though I deem it shall ache later."

I turned back around to see his frowning worried face. "It's no big deal, Legolas. A bump to the head is nothing compared to how many men were lost in this battle."

He looked off into the distance. "This battle is fought and hard-won, yet it is rather the battles to come that cause my heart to fear for your mortal body, not the battles already passed."

I opened my mouth to promise him I'd be all right, but quickly shut it. We didn't lie to each other, and I wasn't about to start now. There was no guarantee I could make to him that I'd come out of this war alive, and it pulled me up short to realize the story was changing enough that I couldn't even guarantee the fates of my friends any longer.

Legolas was still staring off into the distance, so I tried to find something to give us both some needed comfort.

"I'm not an overly religious person," I told him in a quiet voice. He glanced back at me curiously as I continued. "I never have been. I guess my mother's family would have been considered more Pagan than Christian, and my father's people don't really believe in religion in that way. They believe they go to the Blessed Fields of Bounty—though that's a poor translation from Silva—when they die. So, I've never really been sure what I was supposed to believe in. What I should put my faith in.

"I guess when it comes down to it, I just have Faith. Faith that there is something better after this life, and Faith that I've been through enough in the years I've been living to deserve a bit of happiness before I go on. You make me happier than I've ever been, so I have to have Faith that when this war is over, we'll get our chance to be happy together. It's better to have Faith in something than to have no Faith."

He lifted his hands and lightly brushed them over my cheeks, unshed tears catching the light in his eyes. "You are mortal and I am elf-kind. When your mortal years are spent, your faer shall go where mortal souls dwell, and we shall be ever parted."

I reached up and grasped his hand against my cheek, turning my face briefly into the warmth of his touch. "If you're saying you don't want—"

His hand suddenly gripped my chin, tilting it up to look intently into my eyes. "Even if the choice were laid before me now to turn from the path my heart has already taken, I would not turn from it. Perhaps others of my kindred shall think me foolish, but I would not trade even a moment of your love for all the long years of loneliness I have already known. Having tasted that love, I cannot give it up; no matter the cost I shall one day be asked to account for."

I stared up at his eyes, lightened to a slate gray by the wetness of his tears. "I know that there is supposed to be different destinations for the souls of man and elf here, but I have to have Faith. I have to have Faith that any gods, or the Valar—if there is any justice within them—they won't part us in death. I have to have Faith."

He leaned down and brushed his forehead against mine. "Then I too shall have Faith." But the words seemed hollow and not as heartfelt or sure as mine had been.

I only prayed my Faith would one day pay dividends.

* * *

><p>We continued walking hand in hand, each lost in our own morose thoughts brought on by the sight of so much death.<p>

I feared the very thing Legolas did. I knew as well as he did that they said elves and mortals were not meant for each other, but where did that leave me?

I'd never been strictly human, and my mother's mostly Celtic family followed a strange mix of beliefs: a combination of paganism, and Druid and Saxon beliefs along with others. They tended to believe that people were given new lives to live again when they died. I wasn't sure I ascribed to reincarnation like that, but I knew I also wasn't Fae enough to go to the Blessed Fields of Bounty.

There was no special afterlife for partly Fae humans like me. Just as in life, I belonged nowhere.

Legolas tugged on my hand and pulled me closer, wrapping an arm over my shoulders, heedless of the stares and whispers of the Rohirrim.

It brought a smile to my face as I wrapped my own arm around his waist in return. I'd follow Legolas's lead. I couldn't know what our future would bring, but I'd be happy with what I could grab onto now.

"Legolas! Lass!" Gimli called, jogging up to us. I stepped away as elf and dwarf fondly embraced one another and began comparing their tally from the battle.

Gárwine caught my eye, waving me over from where an older woman gratefully embraced him, along with two little girls still clinging to her skirts. He spoke quickly and quietly to her in Rohirric, throwing a few gestures my way.

Then, the woman broke away from her son and threw her heavy arms around me. It was so sudden, I didn't have time to step back and avoid her embrace. She squeezed me tightly, speaking grateful words in broken Westron and Rohirric, but my mind had been so submerged in her thoughts at her touch, that my ears couldn't focus on her words.

Sadness and fear still permeated this poor woman, though she was also wrought with joy that her son lived. And grateful. My ears finally registered that the words she was repeating were broken thank yous.

Suddenly, Legolas's gentle hands descended on my shoulders, slowly pulling me back from the woman's arms. His touch offered an instantaneous calming effect. I was able to let my mind pull away from the onslaught of forceful maternal emotions and retreat into the gentle thoughts and feeling of Legolas's mind, and eventually rebuild my guard so I could focus wholly on what was being said in the moment.

My eyes opened again—I hadn't even noticed when they'd clenched tightly shut—and I realized Legolas was speaking politely to the woman as I gathered myself, smoothly hiding my moment of weakness.

He'd stepped close behind me, his arm spanning from shoulder to shoulder across my collarbone, and I reached up to gratefully squeeze his arm in thanks.

As I looked back at Gárwine's mother, I realized she was glancing curiously back and forth between the elf speaking to her over my head and myself.

At a pause in Legolas's polite explanation of how I had fought by her son's side, I tried to explain to her, "He's my—" but then I stopped. What exactly was Legolas to me? It had been a long time since I'd felt or even been young enough to use the word boyfriend with anyone—besides, that would likely confuse people here—and I was nearly as certain that the word fiancé was just as foreign. Hadn't that been French or something anyway? "We're going to hopefully get married someday. When these dark days have passed," I finally settled on.

She still looked somewhat confused, but I wasn't certain how much Westron she spoke or even how most of my English words seemed in Westron. Legolas happily squeezed my shoulders and cheerfully explained, "We have plighted our troth to be wed when this war is over."

His wording she seemed to understand, but I could still see the puzzlement in her eyes as she looked between us. A human and an elf. Talk about your extreme mix-race couple.

As we walked away from Gárwine and his family after a polite goodbye, I squeezed Legolas's hand between us and whispered, "Thank you for pulling me away."

"Of course," he returned. "You seemed almost in pain. I had not realized mortal's thoughts would be so troubling to you. Yet Gimli tells that you experienced difficulty with them before the battle upon arriving at the Deep." I smiled, pleasantly surprised to know that he'd so accurately known what my problem was.

"Aye Lass," Gimli added, startling me because I hadn't realized he'd been walking on Legolas's other side. "I hadn't known they would bother you so either. It's a wonder you were able to fight at 'tall."

"Oh, the adrenaline kicks in—" I caught their confused looks, "—that ah, rush of energy you get. Anyway, it kicks in and I'm able to block it all out pretty well. Physical contact just makes it stronger." I shook my regretfully, realizing that as my adrenaline rush from the battle dissipated, the thoughts of the Rohirrim were starting to press down. "I thought when I first got here that I was able to keep your thoughts out easier in this world than in my own, but as it turns out, it's just you guys. The thoughts of humans are just as hard to block out. And now I've gotten out of practice doing it."

"I din'na realize it was such a struggle, Lass," Gimli offered in an apologetic tone.

"Not your fault. We can't help the way we're born."

Legolas squeezed my hand in sympathy. "If ever there is a way I might help you, know that I shall do so."

I laughed. "You're already doing more than you know," I said, raising our clasped hands. "Besides, it made me who I am. And it's been useful too. I doubt I'd ever have become a solider or a cop without it, or risen as far as I did within the ranks of the military. Being a woman soldier isn't easy. You have to be able to do anything the men can do, and having my telepathy made me do it better. It sure made me a better sniper and for sure a hell of a lot better scout. It gave me the edge I needed to compete with and best the men."

We walked a few paces back towards the Keep in silence before Gimli cleared his throat nervously. "So, the two of you are troth-plighted. Congratulations." His cheeks flushed pink as he spoke and his eyes darted away. "I had not realized the two of you had become so serious so swiftly. But this dwarf could'na be happier for ye." As he finished, he resolutely looked us in the eye, even through his blush.

I grinned but it was Legolas who spoke. "Thank you, Gimli." He turned and looked curiously at me, "Though in truth, it came as a surprise to me as well. We had not yet discussed such a step or formally plighted our troth."

I felt my brow rise as I teased, "Oh? If I had gotten the wrong idea from you, just let me know."

He laughed at my teasing and brushed his lips against my forehead. "Nay, I had merely thought you requested more time. It had been my intent to wait before I asked for your hand. Until you were ready."

Shrugging, I answered, "Life's short. And anything could happen. Even to an immortal. I know I've been—casual with men in my past, but I care for you more than I ever cared for my first husband. You know the things that make me—me. You know me better than anyone else ever has."

"You were married, Lassie?" Gimli asked, nearly stumbling in his surprise. "I'm sorry for your loss," he hastily added.

"Nothing to be sorry for. He's not dead. Long story, but, our marriage was dissolved because he had married my best friend." I laughed at Gimli's shocked face. "I told you, long story. He thought I was dead after I'd been captured by enemy troops and held captive for a few years, so he got married again. Not that it mattered, we were headed for divorce anyway,—ugh, that's a legal way to end marriages in my world."

Gimli shook his head and angrily growled, "The man must have been the lowest sort of scoundrel to forsake you so quickly and marry again."

I smiled, bolstered and pleased by his faithful support of me even though he didn't know the details.

"It was for the best, Gimli. We weren't happy and we were never going to be happy together."

Gimli stopped walking and we all stopped with him. "You knew about this, Legolas?" he asked, looking the elf curiously in the eye.

"Yes, Gimli. I had known," Legolas laughed. Then his expression turned serious. "I would have known if Elaina had given her heart to this man."

We started walking again.

"Again, as I said, congratulations to you both," Gimli repeated.

* * *

><p>It didn't take long for King Théoden to regroup his forces and order them mounted for the ride to Isengard. His soldiers cast cursory glances my way, but seemed to accept for now that I would be riding among them.<p>

The ride was long and hard, especially considering the battle that had been fought through the night and into morning. At least I hadn't had to make the long ride before the battle like Erkenbrand's men had had to make. And even now, Erkenbrand and many of his men were journeying with us to Isengard.

I sat gazing into the fire long after we'd stopped to rest that night, the piece of bread for my supper long forgotten in my hand as I watched the embers pop and flare in the dancing flames. Gimli snored noisily beside me, having long since eaten and found his respite. Aragorn and Gandalf had gone to further meet with the king, and Legolas had slipped away saying he was going to scout the area. I'd considered going with him, but he'd be much faster and more efficient without me as dark as it was. Not to mention the exhaustion that had settled over me once I'd slipped from Lightfoot's saddle.

Yet, an hour later, here I sat. Staring into the flames, unable to find my own sleep. My body ached from its various cuts, bruises, and general fatigue, but the warmth of the fire eased it somewhat.

Hands gently descended onto my shoulders from behind. Startled, I looked over my shoulder to see Legolas kneel behind me.

"I should have thought you would have long since found your rest," he whispered to me.

"Couldn't sleep." I shrugged.

Legolas reached around my body and lightly grasped the hand resting on the knee pulled up to my chest. Sliding the piece of bread from my grasp, he pulled a small piece apart and brought it to my mouth. "At the very least, you should finish your meal, Elaina love."

My head shook ruefully but I obligingly ate the piece of bread. It was strangely comforting to have him fuss over me and somehow primordially satisfying to eat from his hand. Something in my head said the feminist in me should be alarmed, but maybe exhaustion had gotten the better of her too. For I could only feel comfort and satisfaction at his closeness and attentiveness.

My first husband had certainly never been that way. I leaned back into his warm chest, my head resting against his shoulder as I basked in the feeling of his strength. The feminist in me would probably reassert herself come morning, but for now, I'd cherish what I could in her absence.

I glanced again at all the sleeping soldiers around us. Now that Legolas was nearby, I could hopefully join them in slumber. Most of the Rohirrim were sleeping, but there were still enough of them awake taking their turn at guard duty that I couldn't sleep for the pounding of their thoughts in my head. Legolas's hands on my arms and his chest at my back, along with his soothing elvish thoughts finally allowed me some much-needed relief.

We sat together in silence for some time. Simply staring at the fire as he fed me the last bits of bread and curled some stray hairs from my braid around his fingers.

I had known for some time that elves seemed to have less physical barriers between themselves and those they cared for, but it continued to surprise me how kind and attentive he'd been towards me. Given his longstanding celibacy. Somehow, in this world, and given his lack of prior relationships, I had expected his behavior to be more circumspect and chivalrous. Not that Legolas wasn't courteous.

From the furtive glances thrown our way by the humans, I hadn't actually been far off in my assumption. At least as far as humans were concerned. The Rohirrim certainly seemed surprised by the lack of so-called felicitous behavior.

"Do all elves behave this way?" At his inquiring noise, I elaborated. "Maintain such physical closeness and such," I said, gesturing to the arm once again spanning my collarbone.

His grip instantly loosened as he sat away from me while leaning further over my shoulder to look me in the eye. "If I have overstepped my bounds and made you uncomfortable, I apologize. You seemed to find comfort in my touch and to be quite truthful; I find that I too have found great comfort in touching your skin. In holding you close."

I gripped his forearm before he could pull further away from me. "No. You're right. I do find comfort in it. You help me to focus my mind in ways you can't even imagine. And I'm thrilled by the thought that you get any kind of comfort from it as well. I've just been curious I guess. I knew humans in my world who were always seeking physical closeness and contact with others. Those who cuddled—I guess for lack of a better word. But I was never one of those people and I guess I figured everyone would be that way here. I mean—I saw that elves in Lothlórien were very comfortable with touching each other, and we've certainly held hands many times on our journey, but I still hadn't expected you to so casually embrace and touch me when we aren't married yet."

He slowly wrapped his arms around me again, as though giving me plenty of opportunity to pull away. "Elves are not as mortal man. We behave as we feel natural. We do follow proper decorum, especially when in the presence of mortals, but elves amongst other elves invariably act in accordance with the emotions of those around us, not the strange customs that prevent man from offering the comfort of even a single touch to each other. However, elves are also taught to refrain from such closeness when mortals are near. Giving and receiving an embrace is understood amongst elf-kind as a gesture of friendship and comfort, yet we know mortals interpret actions differently and thus misconstrue actions that seem only natural to us."

He was silent for several moments, lost in silent contemplation, but then he continued. "Perhaps I am not as other elves. Others of my kindred would invariably say that I have been too forward in my actions with you, given that I have not yet properly gone about plighting our troth, let alone wedding you as I should before I act so boldly, but I cannot bring myself to stay from you. There is a closeness I feel when I touch you that leaves me feeling hollow and alone when your skin is not beneath my fingertips. And there is such a deep satisfaction I experience when I touch you and see just how much your mind is eased by my presence."

He shook his head and chuckled lightly, leaning over my shoulder to peer around into my eyes. "You said you had been more as the mortals here," he said, gesturing to the sleeping Rohirrim, "and I knew you were often uncomfortable along our journey when I took your hand. Are you certain you are not uncomfortable with my closeness?"

Shaking my head, I smiled at the notion that the virgin between us was unperturbed by such closeness, while _I _had been uncomfortable, and so I answered him as honestly as I could, "I was uncomfortable at first, and to be honest, I am actually kinda surprised at myself. Like I said, I never was a 'cuddler' before, but it seems easy with you now. I feel like something has clicked into place between us. And honestly, after nearly losing you, I'm almost afraid to let go of you. It was different when I wasn't sure what was between us, or even what I felt about you, but things have changed so much. Ever since I nearly lost you, I guess I finally realized just _how much_ I nearly lost. And given how much I do feel for you, I guess it only seems right to be so close with you."

I ducked my head and looked away, knowing I was copping out by not saying the words now. I'd said them earlier when I was ecstatic at Legolas's return, but I couldn't bring myself to say them now. Not that I didn't feel them. But he'd wanted to hear them when they were spoken only with joy. And during a conversation about the vast differences in our races didn't seem like the right time.

And just maybe, I _was_ being a bit of a coward. Afraid to say the words now that I'd had time to think.

I remembered the destitution in my mother's eyes when she'd finally come to see the man she loved for the monster he'd always been.

Maybe it made me cautious. Or maybe it really did just make me a coward.

"What are the customs of your people for engagements and weddings?" I asked curiously, remembering him saying something about not properly plighting our troth, and wanting to change the subject.

I could hear the smile in his voice as he pulled me back against his chest again and spoke quietly in my ear. "There are no set traditions followed by all elven couples. Some follow traditions passed through generations of families, while some couples plight their troth and wed almost upon first meeting. Love happens very swiftly for many elves. But in cases where elves do not wed so quickly and wish to give their families time to come together and accept their union, there can be a feast to celebrate the plighting of their troth before the couple comes together as one. At the feast, it is typical for their friends and families to bestow gifts for their new life together. In the cases where ellon and elleth join beforehand, a celebratory feast is often held after to bestow the same sorts of gifts."

"You don't have wedding ceremonies like humans do?"

He shook his head. "Nay, not normally. At times, high-born elves or prominent elves of different clans have wed in similar ceremonies as those of mortal men but it has been many long years since such a ceremony was held."

"But you're a prince. Will your father expect some kind of ceremony?"

Again, he shook his head. "My father knows I have no interest in the crown and that I would never care for such formalities."

Silence fell again.

Legolas gently nudged my shoulder with his chin. "What of your people's customs? I would be happy to honor whatever traditions you would wish, Elaina love."

I shrugged. I'd already done the typical white-dress-in-a-church American wedding. "I guess it's typical in my country to have an engagement period before the wedding, marked by an engagement ring given by the man to symbolize the woman's promise to marry him. Then the wedding ceremony is usually a gathering of close friends and family where the couple swears to love, honor, and obey each other. Although, I never did allow the word obey in my wedding ceremony. And there are lots of other traditions I guess. But that's the gist."

Legolas considered my words, and then I felt him move around behind me. He spoke as his arms came back to encircle me. "It is also a custom of elves to mark the union of two souls with a ring given by the ellon. My own mother left me a ring to give to my match before she departed for the shores of Valinor. I have carried it with me ever since."

He opened his hand in front of me and I finally glanced down at his open palm. A silver band with a brilliant red stone sparkled in the firelight against his skin.

"Are you—" I managed to choke out before my voice caught.

He brought his palm closer to my face, waiting for me to claim it. "Yes, I am asking for your hand," he responded, a smile and laughter in his soft words.

It wasn't the traditional getting down on one knee from my world, but being wrapped in Legolas's soft touch and his comforting embrace felt infinitely more intimate. And I found myself thinking that every woman should have a man propose to her in that fashion.

"Yes," I whispered in a choked voice. Gingerly plucking the beautiful ring from his palm. It wasn't a sparkling diamond, but I found I preferred the radiant red stone. It seemed to light in color to be a ruby, but richer than any garnet I'd seen. The gleaming silver was intricately etched with vines and flowers to wrap around the band, the prongs that held the stone appearing more as flowers blooming around the stone than securing it.

I continued to hold it for several moments. Almost afraid to take the next step and slide it onto my finger.

Legolas had no qualms. His left hand gently took it back as he carefully maneuvered it down my ring finger and past the joint.

"It fits perfectly," I marveled. "Almost like it was made for me."

Satisfaction laced his voice as he spoke, deepening his timber. "Perhaps it was. Elves believe there is only one other made for each of us." As he spoke, his left hand held onto mine, his fingers soothingly caressing the rough skin of my knuckles and fingers.

"Are there any other customs of your people? I like this tradition of a ring to mark our troth."

I thought about all those typical traditions. The white dress, the veil, the throwing of rice, the cake. I'd done them all before. Following all the typical traditions with my first husband that was expected of me.

"My mother's family is Celtic, so they always followed a few different traditions in accordance, but I remember one of the most important ones that stood out in my memory of a cousin's wedding before my mother died was the handfasting."

"Handfasting?" he repeated curiously.

I looked down at his left hand still entwined with my own. "There were lots of Celtic traditions I don't remember very well at my cousin's wedding—I was only about two-years-old—but the hand-fasting was what stood out in my mind the most. At the ceremony, the bride and groom stand together with their hands clasped and a ribbon is tied around their joined hands. The tradition varies from family to family, but I remember my cousin had her hand joined with her new husband's throughout the entire wedding feast and then it was supposed to remain tied throughout the night as a symbol of their eternal unity. Come morning, the ribbon was cut and placed above the mantel with other wedding tokens that were meant for good luck to the couple. Celts believed in doing a lot of things like that to bring the couple luck."

"What of your father's people? Did they have any wedding customs?"

I stiffened at the question, but Legolas soothingly stroked my hand and arms. "I don't know," I answered shortly. "I've never known as much about those kinds of customs among the Fae I guess. They don't really believe in love, so marriages for them are strictly political alliances meant to further their standing and their family's standing. Children are born to the Fae both in and out-of-wedlock and it's never really mattered to them. The Celts have more wedding traditions concerning fairies than the fairies have for themselves. It was said that fairies especially liked to steal brides on her wedding day and so Celts developed many traditions intended to ward the Fae away on the wedding day. There's supposed to be old magic in many of the old Celt clans, and the Fae are said to like both breeding with Celts and eating them best."

Legolas could no doubt hear the bitterness in my voice and continued to soothingly stroke my skin, not saying anything for several moments.

"I am sorry for bringing the matter up. I was merely curious. Your tradition of handfasting sounds very lovely to me," he whispered softly.

I nodded. "It always seemed lovely to me too." Though I'd never done anything in my first wedding other than the typical wedding customs, I found I liked the idea of a few of my mother's family's old customs. It had been a long time since I'd thought about them, but I had as much of my mother's Celtic blood in me as I did my father's Fae blood. Maybe it was time I stopped dwelling on the Fae blood and remember the better side of my heritage.

Exhaustion finally claimed me, causing me to sink back further into Legolas as my weary body shut down.

The day had been long. A battle hard-fought to save the lives of innocent women and children, and the night had ended with a sudden engagement.

* * *

><p>Sleep was sparse for all that night. Darkness ever encroached and even the men could hear the swooping flight of the great beasts flying overhead, unnerving them, and keeping them from their sleep.<p>

Yet dawn came again, and our journey was once more joined.

Legolas and I parted that morning without any words. Only a soft kiss goodbye.

I knew by his look that he would rather I ride by his side at the front with the van, and he knew by my own that I would not. Words were not necessary.

As grateful as I was for Legolas's quiet and comforting presence, I needed to be able to stand on my own. It had become difficult to block human minds out because I'd gotten out of practice, and I needed to force myself to endure the thoughts of the Rohirrim.

No matter how much my own mind reminded me that retreating into Legolas's soothing thoughts was easier. Sometimes we had to force ourselves to do the hard things in order just to remain sane.

Throughout the next day's ride, I caught many of the curious thoughts of the Rohirrim around me. I may not have spoken their language, but I understood the emotions and imagery behind many of their thoughts. The suppositions circulating in their thoughts concerning me were common. Even in the world I'd come from.

I'd seen a taste of it in Lórien, but the humans surrounding me didn't have quite the same tact in their private wonderings about the lone woman traveling such distances with a group of all males. I didn't blame the Rohirrim. Their wonderings were in their minds. I'd been used to having those accusations thrown at my face.

But as the wonderings of the Rohirrim passed from idle thoughts to whispered claims, I wondered why I didn't feel the need to address the men here, as I would have once handled them.

In the Marines, and even as a detective on the Chicago police force, I'd have confronted any such gossip head on with my own verbal attack, or even some kind of physical challenge to prove to the men that I more than earned my place and rank based on my own merit alone. That no other kinds of physical wiles were necessary. I'd even been known to throw lewd comments back at them to make them uncomfortable.

Yet as I rode, I felt no urge to engage them in any of my previous ploys. Legolas had heard and seen the glances as well—though I doubted he understood the extent—and had coolly ignored it.

Just as I was.

It was startling to see such a change in myself. That I didn't feel the same urge to so prove myself as I had before.

Startling—and more than a bit unsettling.

Did I really want to let a man—err, elf—so change me?

And was it him changing me, or was I changing myself?

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Eeeekkkk! I am SO SORRY for how long it took me to get this out to you guys. I never intended to let it go this long!

I raise Welsh Corgis along with all the other many things I do, and the two litters I had this spring both had to be weaned shortly after I wrote the last chapter, and then they become quite the handful until they're ready to be sold and go to new families. And even after the last one went to her new home, I suddenly found myself in summer with all the busy things that go along with that.

*Sigh* But I finally got this chapter finished and the next one is already partly worked on. Just need to finish writing the rest of it. Hopefully it won't take _too _long to get out!

And I'm sorry that there wasn't a lot of action in this chapter. It was more transitional and some important steps had to be taken with Legolas and Lane. The next chapter should be the last chapter of the second book (I know this book always seemed shorter to me) and it'll have a lot more action.

So, sorry again for my sudden absence. I can't promise I'll be able to maintain a great posting schedule throughout the summer. Summer is usually chaotic at best for me, but I'll do my best not to leave you hanging like this again.

And again, WOW, thanks to all the new followers of this story, and thanks so much to those of you who graciously leave me some feedback on the story to kick my butt into gear and get me writing again. You guys are all great!

Happy Memorial Day! And let me know what you thought!


	5. The Parting Glass

**Chapter 5: The Parting Glass**

We finally reached the littered and strewn rubble of the ruined arched gates to the Orthanc. The king and the van rode forward as they noticed the small forms dozing lackadaisically atop the now great heap of debris. But I hung back near the rest of the Rohirrim, enjoying the sight of the Three Hunters' happy reunion with their quarry.

Merry stood and gallantly welcomed the others like a lord graciously greeting his guests. All while unobtrusively toeing Pippin in the stomach to wake him.

"I was surprised by the word of my soldiers that a woman had traveled with us," a thick Rohirric accent softly proclaimed as a horse maneuvered closer in beside me. "Yet I have been informed by those who fought through the night at the Deep that you were present then as well."

Tearing my eyes away from the happy teases being thrown between the Three Hunters and the hobbits, I cast my eyes on the tall form astride a flaxen sorrel. The horse restlessly tossed his head, his full mane flashing in the sun, yet he remained firmly where his rider had placed him. The man was tall and imposing. In more than just his physical stature. Years in the Marines and on the force had taught me how to size a man up in a single glance. And this glance told me that whomever the soldier was, he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed.

"Yes. I did fight at the Deep. I suppose it does seem surprising to you, I understand that women fighting alongside the men isn't common-practice. Even among the famous Shieldmaidens of Rohan."

My tone had aimed for flat and respectful, but something in it seemed to cause the man to flash a bright grin, revealing surprisingly straight teeth for this world.

"You would not be the first nor only maiden to feel as you so do. I've known a few Shieldmaidens who would prefer to swing their sword-arm in battle rather than wielding a sewing needle at home," he chuckled.

My mind instantly thought of Éowyn as I surveyed his bulky form and the reddish-blond hair curling beneath the edge of his helmet. Yet, somehow, there was something in his voice that told me he didn't necessarily think it was right to keep the womenfolk out of the heat of battle. And I somehow doubted a soldier with the evident rank of this man's stature, carriage, and armor, would have meant such a thing to apply to the king's niece.

"Not many men think their womenfolk should leave the safety of their hearth, nor that a woman could have the stomach for battle," I carefully responded. Trying to aim for a pleasant observation and not offend.

Now he laughed in deep guffaws, drawing the attention of the closer soldiers. "Never would I let it be said that the womenfolk didn't have the stomach to perform any task they felt necessary." At my curious look, he quieted his chuckles and explained, "I have a wife and six daughters. Well do I know the lengths the so-called fairer sex will willingly go to protect that hearth and home. And many a time have I felt more than just the bite of my dear wife's tongue in her ire and greatly do I fear it."

He grinned as he said it, so I knew no matter his words and supposed fear of his wife; it was nothing but a loving figment that he painted of her.

"Six daughters? Damn. I don't think I could handle that. You have my admiration. I always thought if I ever was cursed with the punishment of children, I'd rather take sons any day of the week."

His eyes flickered to the van and settled on Legolas for a moment. "No doubt any sons or daughters born to a woman so bold as to fight these dark days alongside man, shall be born no less bold than their mother," he offered, his eyes swinging back to mine.

I looked away, slightly uncomfortable with the topic of motherhood, and Lightfoot danced nervously beneath me, sensing my tenseness and unease.

"Surely the elf shall be up for the task of so bold a brood if he has chosen so fiery a mate," he grinned, unperturbed by my obvious nervousness.

My gaze swung back at his words, my brow rising in challenge at his brashness.

He only chuckled more. "I have heard the idle gossip of curious soldiers, but I hold little stock in such speculations. And it is well told in story and in song that the hearts of the fairy-folk are not a frivolous matter easily given to the idle whims of the flesh as man is. Nor have I seen your eyes land even passingly on any other."

"I—" No other words came out in my startled sputtering. I couldn't believe I'd been so apparently transparent.

He shook his head and bit back his grin. "Six daughters," he reminded, his brow also rising in challenge. "I know the looks women give, even when they think they are hiding them from the world."

I shook my own head, though ruefully. "Well, I have to admit. You are good. And not at all like the other men here. I didn't expect to encounter anyone so accepting of a woman riding to battle," I admitted. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so astute at gauging or accepting women as you. Even where I'm from, most men doubt a woman's mettle when it comes to the harshities of battle."

"With seven of the 'fairer sex' under my roof, I would never venture to make the grave mistake of doubting a woman's courage."

Fighting a grin, I asked, "So, you're saying if one of your six daughters wanted to join the fray in battle, you'd let her?"

"Certainly not! I'd keep her chained up to the hearth with the strongest chain the blacksmith can provide. They are my daughters after all," he rejoined, though his guilty smirk said he'd mostly like to do just that, regardless of his understanding their desires. The protectiveness of fathers and all.

I held my hand out to the unexpectedly astute and surprisingly easy and companionable stranger. "I'm Elaina, but everyone calls me Lane."

He grasped my forearm in warrior's fashion and gripped it tightly. "An odd name you have. I am Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold."

I nearly gasped at his pronouncement, but managed to bite my surprise back. I'd known he had the bearing of importance, but I hadn't recognized just who he was. "Forgive me, I didn't realize who you were," I offered gravelly.

He waved the matter away carelessly. "No matter. I had merely wanted to sate my curiosity of the woman who has garnered such attention from my men and who fought so dauntlessly alongside the might of the Rohirrim," he spoke with a satisfied grin.

We both turned to look towards the van again, watching as the scene continued to unfold.

"Why do you not ride with the elf, nor go to meet your friends? I see the yearning in your gaze," Erkenbrand politely asked.

I shrugged, struggling to find the words to explain myself.

"I don't ride with Legolas because we've already proven that's too dangerous. We'd always be watching out for each other instead of our own backs. And they deserve to have a few moments together with the hobbits. They came so far hunting them, they deserve some time with them. To enjoy finally finding them."

"I am told they hunted for you as well. You are one of their number. Why separate yourself from their presence?"

Something tightened in my chest and I absently pressed against it, hoping to alleviate it. "I'm not one of their number," I whispered in insistence. I couldn't be. I couldn't change things any more.

_Why do Erkenbrand and Haldir both have to be so damn perceptive and so pushy about me joining them? I'm not one of them. It's the _Three _Hunters. That doesn't include me any more than the Nine of the Fellowship did. _

I looked up from rubbing the ache in my chest just in time to see the shapes of the hobbits splashing through the water towards us.

Swinging from the saddle, I dropped my reins and stepped forward to meet the hobbits, falling back a step again as they bowled into my midsection, their arms wrapping tightly around my waist. The ache in my chest suddenly nonexistent.

"We were right worried about you Lane," Pippin announced, his words muffled in the folds of my clothes. Though my body had ached before from my previous wounds, my heart lifted at the sight of the hobbits safe and sound, until I could no longer feel even a twinge of ache. Only happiness.

"I'm so glad you two are alright." As I spoke, I squeezed them in my arms, pausing to give them both a gentle ruffle to the tops of their heads.

"Me and Pip can handle most anything," Merry assured me, his chest puffing out as he pulled back to look up at me. "It was you we were most worried about. You were hurt trying to keep shielding us from those Orcs, and we didn't want to leave you when you didn't look so good, but you and Boromir always knew what was best, and me and Pip thought we should just listen to you like we always did."

Both of the hobbits' chins started to dip down as though ashamed, forcing me to reach out and stop them with a hand under each chin. "You _did _do the right thing. I can take care of myself. And I'm just fine." I hugged them again. "And _so glad_ that you're both okay."

The Three Hunters drew nearer as I noticed the king, Gandalf and most of the other soldiers slipping away to handle their own matters.

"Well, well! The hunt is over, and we all meet again at last, where none of us ever thought to come," Aragorn announced.

"And now that the great ones have gone to discuss high matters," Legolas added, "the hunters can perhaps learn the answers to their own small riddles. We tracked you as far as the forest, but there are still many things I should like to know the truth of. Elaina has told us _some_ of the tale, but there is much we have yet to be told." The last part was spoken with a pointed look in my direction.

I shrugged as Merry responded. "And there is a great deal, too, that we want to know about you," Merry turned his gaze on me. "And about what happened to you, Lane, after we made for the forest. We have learnt a few things through Treebeard, the Old Ent, but that is not nearly enough."

Legolas smiled kindly as we let our three horses wander in search of grass, their reins trailing the ground at their feet. "All in good time," Legolas responded. "We were the hunters, and you should give an account of yourselves to us first."

"Or second," Gimli argued. "It would go better after a meal. I have a sore head; and it is past mid-day. You truants might make amends by finding us some of the plunder that you spoke of. Food and drink would pay off some of my score against you."

The hobbits enthusiastically lead the way towards a guard shack that had housed Saruman's human guards, and we soon were eating a fair meal, seated at a long wooden table within the guardhouse.

I knew Legolas expected more answers to fill in some of the details I had left out about my time captive with the Orcs, yet I couldn't bring myself to break into the hobbits' retelling of the tale. There was nothing I could provide that either Merry or Pippin couldn't provide just as well.

Surprisingly, though the hobbits were understandably dour about their own captivity, their jolly hearts and spirits didn't seem as leaden with the burden of that time as I had feared. They laughed and joked with each other and the others so easily, it warmed my heart to think I'd help shelter them in even the slightest fashion.

I corrected myself. They had kept their jolly hearts, but they _had _changed. There was a maturity that hadn't been there before. There was an evolved manner to their actions in the way they bustled about to make food for us all that hadn't been present before. And thankfully, though there was maturity, it was well balanced with their lightheartedness.

My own smile came easily as I watched the hobbits laugh and joke with the others about sitting to eat a meal with us just so they could "keep us company." And Legolas's smiling laugh as he noted that even had we not arrived, the hobbits would have likely been "keeping each other company" with another meal.

Finally, the meal passed with friendly conversation and we all moved out to sit in the open air so the hobbits, Gimli, and Aragorn could smoke the pipeweed the hobbits had purloined. My own supply of cigarillos was ever dwindling, but I couldn't pass up the chance to have a friendly smoke with the others.

The others had stretched out trying to absorb some warmth from the rays of sun peeking through the mists as they lounged in silence. I sat leaning back on my elbows, enjoying the sweet tang of my cigarillo smoke, with Legolas's head on my outstretched legs as he watched the clouds and softly sang in his own language.

At last, Legolas sat up and said, "Come now! Time wears on, and the mists are blowing away, or would if you strange folk did not wreathe yourselves in smoke. What of the tale?"

Merry and Pippin took turns sharing their tale with the others. Much of it I'd already told Legolas at least, but neither of the hobbits bothered to gloss over some of the details as I had. Legolas threw reproving looks my way several times throughout the telling.

But eventually, the hobbits moved on to sharing their journey after we had parted company. And I watched contentedly as Legolas absorbed the hobbits' tales of the Ents and Treebeard, holding his hand beside him as he ever so slowly leaned forward in his excitement.

As their tale ended, the others split up to search the ruins of Isengard. Legolas stayed to speak more with the hobbits, laughing at their tales of the Ents and Huorns.

No lines or creases marked the elf's face to hint at this age, yet there had been a weight apparent in his eyes before, now lifted as he laughed and spoke with the hobbits. Making him look truly youthful.

As he spoke, I slipped away to check on the horses, ensuring that they hadn't wandered too far. When I finally returned to Legolas's side, his head was tipped back in laughter, his eyes twinkling with mirth. His hand reached out to easily encase my own, as though the action was natural and thoughtless.

But as his eyes lingered on mine for a moment, the words I'd held back before tumbled effortlessly from my heart, flowing easily to my mind, and falling softly from my lips.

"What?" Legolas questioned, stepping closer, his face sobering with seriousness.

"I love you," I repeated, my easy confidence lending my voice more volume this time.

The distance between us suddenly disappeared as Legolas splayed one hand across my back, the other spanning my jaw and neck as he tilted my face up to his, bending down to press his lips to mine.

I was slightly surprised that he would kiss me in front of the hobbits, but my reaction turned to a shocked gasp as his lips moved insistently against my own, his teeth briefly nipping at my lower lip when my mouth opened in surprise.

When he pulled back, he was grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

"Wow," I stammered, remembering his shock the first time I'd kissed him all those months ago. "You're a fast learner."

His features were bright with contentment, happiness, and other emotions I couldn't name. "As I told you, elves behave as we feel natural. Our instincts are very strong." He paused then earnestly added, "You are my heart, Elaina love."

"Are you two married now?" Pippin asked in an incredulous voice.

I felt my cheeks burn even though I had no reason to be embarrassed.

"No, but we're hoping to after this war is over and things settle down," I explained, fighting for nonchalance.

"Oh. Are we invited to the wedding?" Merry innocently asked.

My cheeks burned even more and I fought the urge to fan them. _Who's acting like the blushing virgin now?_ my subconscious wickedly asked. Yet I couldn't help it. A part of me still saw only the innocence in the hobbits and I didn't want to sully it.

"Well, the wedding part for elves is a very private matter, but maybe we can have a celebration feast afterwards with our friends," I told them.

Legolas brought our clasped hands to his lips, brushing a kiss across them. "For certain we shall have a feast to commemorate the occasion."

We started walking into Isengard, following the chatting hobbits who were discussing all the fare they hoped would be served at our feast and the kinds of ale they hoped would be served.

"Congratulations are in order, I understand," Aragorn said.

I hadn't realized he'd been nearby to overhear the conversation, but he fell in step with us, extending his hand to shake Legolas's. The two stopped briefly to hug fondly, Aragorn and Legolas whispering happy words to each other in elvish.

With a laugh, they both pulled apart and Aragorn walked ahead to catch up with the hobbits and Gimli who had suddenly returned from his wanderings.

"Aragorn was wishing us both health and happiness," Legolas supplied, realizing I didn't understand their words.

We continued a few more paces before he changed the subject.

"Why did you not tell me that you had suffered such mistreatment at the hands of the Orcs in your efforts to shield the hobbits?"

I shrugged. "It was already done and there was no sense unnecessarily upsetting you."

"You could have been killed in your contrivance to protect the hobbits," he argued, his words becoming sharp.

"Legolas, I'm fine. I'm a trained soldier who was better suited to taking a little mistreatment than they were. I've been through far worse, but I couldn't stand the thought of the hobbits being hurt that way."

"And should I stand the thought of you being so mistreated?" he fired back.

My anger and indignation deflated. I had no good argument for him. "You're right. I'm sorry. I hadn't considered you in my actions."

He looked away and softly whispered, "I hate the thought of you being caught in the middle of this war."

Silence followed as we picked our way through the rubble, Legolas's fingers idly toyed with the ring he'd placed on my hand, and I felt a flash of regret shoot across his emotions. I jerked to a stop, pulling on his hand to halt him as well.

"What? What's wrong?" I pressed.

He sighed and then his fingertips rose towards my face, the tips of his fingers barely brushing my cheek. "I regret that I have not more to offer you. You deserve better than traversing the wilds after me in wartime. I had imagined better for you than asking for your hand and announcing our intentions amidst such desolation and rubble," he lamented, his arms gesturing to the ruined structures all around us. "I know not what I shall ever have to offer you. My father is the king of his lands, but even should the Dark Lord's reign be ended, I am not sure I can ever return to his lands to be one of his subjects again. Yet, what kind of life is that to offer you? One of uncertainty and wandering?"

I pressed two fingers against his lips to stall his worries. "It doesn't matter. The when, the where, the how—none of it matters. I've seen worse places than this, and they were worse because I was alone. I've always been alone. Even when I was married. For the first time in my life, I don't feel alone. I'm a soldier; I've been a soldier for a long time. War is not new to me.

"And what you have to offer? It's everything I want and need. You love me, and that's more than I ever expected or dreamed of. And what happens after—we'll figure it out then. Whatever we do, wherever we go—it doesn't matter. If we wander for a while, so what? I've always been a wanderer. We'll wander together, and if we decide to stop someday, we'll do that together, too."

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly under my fingers. He pulled them away gently. "Perhaps it would be best to return to my father's kingdom when this war is over. He would gladly welcome us. There are many comforts to be offered as the crown prince."

But I could see in his eyes that he didn't really want to return to living in his father's kingdom. It was hard to return home once you had seen and experienced the world. It was hard to subject yourself to the rule of even a loved parent when you had lived on your own and answered only to yourself.

"I've never desired that kind of life," I honestly answered. "We'll find our own place. And we'll make our own comforts."

* * *

><p>When we had rejoined the others, we rode to the foot of Orthanc. Gandalf gave many warnings concerning the peril of Saruman, and decreed that the king and his nephew, as well as Aragorn would accompany him. Gimli argued that he and Legolas should go as representatives of their races and so were allowed.<p>

Legolas glanced questioningly at me, but I had no desire to go any closer to that oppressive black tower. There was no race of partly-Fae humans for me to represent, and I wasn't even from this world, so I stayed back by the other soldiers, hoping to fade in and disappear amongst them.

All had been warned about the danger in Saruman's voice, the power of it to hold sway over others, and so, the Rohirrim waited nervously, their heads down in fear as the milled near the stairs to the Orthanc.

A sense of foreboding filled me, so I pulled the hood of my cloak up to further mask my features. Hoping no one would spot my obviously slighter form in the sea of burly Rohirric riders.

"Well?" a voice suddenly called out from a balcony above, finally answering Gandalf's bellows. "Why must you disturb my rest? Will you give me no peace at all by night or day?" The words were spoken slowly and sweetly, the seductive quality making them irresistible to the Rohirrim whose attention instantly snapped up to Saruman's form.

But I shrank back, ducking my head and wanting nothing more than to turn my horse and run from that seductive sound.

Fairies often used their innate magic to bespell and enthrall humans. The mostly human blood in me meant I felt some of that pull, but the Fae in me meant I was aware of it and wouldn't totally succumb.

A terrifying feeling I had forgotten from my childhood. To feel that irresistible pull to unconditionally please its speaker, all the while knowing just how foreign and unnatural the sensations were.

Even worse yet, in my terror, my barriers began to slip and I could feel the overwhelming sensations and emotions of the Rohirrim who suddenly sympathized with the old man and wanted to please him and obey his "kindly" wishes.

I felt myself turning inwards, trying to block out the continuing flow of the seductive words pouring from above. My body curled inwards as I tried to keep from noticing the eagerness with which those around me leaned forward in sympathy and support at Saruman's lies. The arguments of Théoden, Éomer, and Gimli fell deftly on my ears as I sought to shut out the slithering feel of Saruman's seductiveness.

Suddenly, Gandalf's words and grim laughter at Saruman's machinations broke some of Saruman's sway. I breathed a deep sigh of relief, not realizing when I'd begun to hold my breath.

I glanced up from beneath my hood, finally again hearing some of Saruman's words to Gandalf. They only held an edge of their former seductive quality as he spoke, his anger obliterating their former hold.

"—But why should I wish to leave? And what do you mean by 'free'? There are conditions, I presume?" he was asking of Gandalf.

"Reasons for leaving you can see from your windows," Gandalf reasonably answered. "Others will occur to your thought. Your servants are destroyed and scattered; your neighbors you have made your enemies; and you have cheated your new master, or tried to do so. When his eye turns hither, it will be the red of wrath. But when I say 'free', I mean 'free': free from bond, of chain or command: to go where you will, even, even to Mordor, Saruman, if you desire. But you will first surrender to me the Key of Orthanc, and your staff. They shall be pledges of your conduct, to be returned later, if you merit them."

Saruman twisted with rage. "Later! Later! Yes, when you also have the Keys of Barad-dûr itself, I suppose; and the crowns of seven kings, and the rods of the Five Wizards, and have purchased yourself a pair of boots many sizes larger than those you wear now. A modest plan. But a fool's plan. You do not even have the sense to use that which fate has already lain at your feet."

He looked out through the horsemen, his eyes seeming to search for something, and that deep sense of foreboding returned as his eyes narrowed unerringly on me.

"Come," he commanded, his voice soft but resonant; the seductiveness returning to his words a hundred-fold.

Trembling fingers pulled back my hood before I realized I'd made any move to obey the wizard. My breathing became shallow as a part of me yearned to obey his command and climb the steps up to him, yet, with effort, I pushed my shoulders back and thrust my chin upwards.

"No." I put what power I could into the word, the single utterance flowing back at him with a measure of the same enthrallment my Fae kin used on humans.

Rohirrim all around me snapped to attention to look curiously at me, but I spoke no more and I made no move to follow Saruman's command.

The wizard looked perplexed for a moment, but then shifted his focus to Gandalf again. "You are a fool," he continued to the wizard. "A gift so fortuitously dropped in your lap and yet you do not take advantage of her. Her knowledge alone could aid any in the war to come to change the tide in their favor, yet you squander such a gift, allowing it to waste under the costuming of a man." His gaze turned back to me as he continued. "Yes, such a gift you are, with your knowledge, I could beat back this rabble. Since your sudden appearance in this world, I have watched you and watched you use your knowledge, though to poor use and little effect. My servants could not fetch you to me, yet you bring yourself to my doorstep. I could use your knowledge for such purpose. Or could the Dark Lord."

"No," I repeated, my voice flat, lacking the power to again put any force into the word.

Saruman's gazed narrowed once more as he held a hand down towards me. "Come to me, and I can give you that which you truly seek. I can open the pathway to your world again. I can send you there. Come up to me, and I will send you."

His thoughts tasted of lies, his seductive offer meaning to sway me where his power in his words had failed.

"Your words are dry. Empty. Like sawdust. They hold no form. They are lies. You can no more send me there than I wish to either come up to you or to return to my world. And you will no more use me than any other will. I'll die before allowing you to debase me by using any part of me, mind or body. They are mine alone." The words finally spoken, I turned Lightfoot and began riding away through the bewildered throngs of Rohirrim.

"Do your companions know?" Saruman tauntingly called to my retreating back. "Do they know that you know each of their fates? The time and place when they shall die. Do they know how you enjoy watching them twist in the winds of their fate? How you revel at watching their demise?"

I stiffened and pulled Lightfoot to a stop as the bewildered looks of the Rohirrim turned sour and suspicious. But rather than give the wizard the satisfaction of any reaction, I continued riding.

Gandalf's voice carried to me as I rode away. "You have become a fool, Saruman, and yet pitiable. You might still have turned from folly and evil, and have been of service. But you choose to stay and gnaw the ends of your old plots. Stay then! But I warn you, you will not easily come out again. Not unless the dark hands of the East stretch out to take you. Saruman! Behold, I am not Gandalf the Grey, whom you betrayed. I am Gandalf the White, who has returned from death. You have no color now, and I cast you from the order and from the Council. Saruman, your staff is broken."

I heard the loud crack as the staff was shattered and Saruman's wretched cry, but all other sound faded as I rode further from the tall tower steering Lightfoot for the edges of the grounds circling the Orthanc.

The others found me some time later, standing near the edges of the gate, Lightfoot's rein held loosely in my hand as he foraged for fresh grass. I heard them approach behind me, but stayed facing away from them, my back straight and stiff as I struggled to hold myself together.

"I would never get pleasure out of watching anything happen to any of you," I spoke in a low, stiff voice. "And I got no pleasure from Gandalf's fall nor from Boromir's demise."

Legolas's arms suddenly appeared around my waist, pulling me backwards into the comfort of his chest. He spoke no words, letting his unflinching embrace express what words couldn't fathom.

Aragorn stepped beside me to my left, his hand descending onto my shoulder as he spoke. "Even in my irrational anger towards you after Gandalf's fall, I saw how torn you were by his fate, and knew that you certainly took no pleasure from his death."

Merry and Pippin appeared in front of me, each taking a hand. "We saw how hard you fought to save Boromir from his fate," Merry said.

"Took an arrow too!" Pippin added.

"Those who know ya, Lass, know you'd never take perverse pleasure in watchin' harm come to those ye care for," Gimli added, standing to my right and patting my arm.

A choked sob escaped as my body nearly collapsed back against Legolas in relief.

"I'd give almost _anything _not to know what I know. I hate it," I tried to reassure them.

We stood like that together in silence for several moments. My friends' quiet reassurances that they believed in me a wonder I could not wrap my mind around. But one by one, they wandered away, leaving me alone in Legolas's embrace.

"Never," Legolas finally whispered, "would I have believed such lies about you, even spoken with the power of a Wizard's Voice."

I shuddered. "I had forgotten Saruman was said to have had such power in his voice."

"You felt the power of control in his voice as mortals do?" Legolas asked. At my nod he continued. "Yet you were able to deny that power so effectively. I would not have thought a mortal would so be able. Elves and dwarves, and perhaps even hobbits it seems, can do so, but I had thought all mortals would fall prey to it."

"My father's people could do that too. Use their voice to enthrall humans and make them do anything. I despised the sensation of feeling obliged to that power, yet being so aware of it that I had to do everything in my power to deny it. It's almost easier for normal humans, they may have to obey that bespellment, but at least they don't realize it at the time or even have much awareness of it later."

"And you too have this power in your voice."

I shook my head. "Not really. Enough I guess to put some push into one word like that. But no more. I told you, my father was extremely disappointed in my lack of magic and useful skills."

We stood silently for a time. Legolas continuing to show me his unflinching belief in me with his steadfast resolve. His touch saying more than the words of any language ever could.

"Thank you," I said after a while. "For believing in me without question."

"I know your heart well. And never would you so callously enjoy the demise of others as Saruman suggested. For most of our journey, I saw you struggle with Boromir's impending fate and Gandalf's as well. I watched you constantly strive to reach Boromir and assist him," Legolas assured me, gently squeezing around my stomach and speaking softly into my ear.

Eventually, I pulled away from Legolas, wiping at the few tears that had spilled onto my cheeks. I gestured towards where Gandalf stood with Treebeard. "Go, meet the Lord of Fangorn, I know you want to. I'll just take a minute to gather myself."

Legolas studied my face for several moments, but then pressed a kiss to my forehead and turned to join the others by the Lord of the Ents, allowing me the needed time to pull myself together after the shock of my friends all placing their unquestioning belief in me.

A novel idea in and of itself.

Friends.

* * *

><p>By the time we made camp late that night, exhaustion had settled around me like an old blanket. My body felt leaden with its weight. The days and nights with lack of sleep and my confrontation with Saruman had forced me to tap into whatever stores of energy reserve I'd previously had.<p>

I slid from Lightfoot's back feeling almost boneless, barely having the energy or coordination to find a place to stake a picket line for Lightfoot for the night where he could graze and rest before I trudged back to the campfire Gimli had lit for our group.

Aragorn, Legolas, and the hobbits knelt with us around the fire as we ate a sparse meal in silence. Then, one by one, Aragorn, the hobbits, and Gimli laid down to rest, pulling their cloaks around them to act as blankets.

Gandalf had already laid his pallet out a ways away from us and everyone else, his eyes distant as though he was lost deep in thought in matters far away from here.

"I shall go to help patrol and guard the encampment," Legolas whispered to me. "Do you wish to join me?"

"No," I shook my head, "you go, you're better suited for the task, and I'm exhausted anyway."

He lightly kissed my lips. "You are suited as well to the task as any mortal. Even so well as Aragorn. You move with more stealth and grace than any human I've seen. Yet I can see that you are correct; sleep is what your body requires most. Rest well, and I shall join you soon."

Stretching out, I pulled my own cloak tightly around myself, intending to sleep regardless of the lingering stares of the Rohirrim and their buzzing thoughts. Yet as I lay on my side to sleep, I caught sight of the hobbits huddled together speaking. I could hear Merry telling his companion several times to go to sleep and saw Pippin's lingering gaze on Gandalf's sleeping form.

_The Palantír,_ I suddenly remembered. _That's what Pip is staring at and soon he'll go steal it from Gandalf and lay bare his mind to Sauron's will. I should do something. I should stop him from making that mistake! He's too innocent to expose to such darkness!_

But my exhaustion proved stronger, and despite my intentions to stay awake and watch the foolish young hobbit, sleep overcame me.

* * *

><p>I jerked awake at the shrill scream that rang through the air. My body instinctively jerked into action as adrenaline surged through my body. The hobbits had been lying closest to my place near the dying fire, so I reached Pippin's prone form first.<p>

His body was rigid, bent and constricted with pain it seemed to me, so I knelt and placed my hands on his shoulders, intending to either shake him from his trance, or ease whatever pain he was in. Yet, as my hands descended on him, it seemed as though I had been leaning into a glass wall that suddenly disappeared beneath my fingertips, and I was plunged headfirst into Pippin's mind.

Pain and fire assuaged me there. Overwhelming all of my other senses and my thoughts. Making me forget that anything had ever existed in the world besides pain and fire. But then, I heard Pippin's pained pleading, and focused my mind on his voice. Swimming through the fire to reach his crumpled form in the lake of molten heat and pain.

I could feel the oppressive weight of the voice ringing throughout Pippin's being, asking him who he was.

"A hobbit," he finally choked out.

The voice seemed to resonate through everything. Through the fire and the pain. "Wait a moment! We shall meet again soon. Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!"

I felt the pain that suddenly pressed Pippin down even further. Heard his pained and panicked cries. So I pressed myself down over him. Shielding his smaller form with my body and offering him what comfort I could while murmuring what I hoped were comforting words.

He latched onto me, his arms clutching desperately around my midsection as he sobbed into my chest, but the pain in him seemed to lessen as I tried to envision myself truly as a shield over the hobbit.

"What are you?" the voice suddenly boomed, and I knew he was speaking to me this time.

I hunched further over Pippin as he cried and clung to me, refusing to answer the voice.

"You are the seer, the soothsayer my servant sought to capture," the voice suddenly declared. "Tell me what you know! Tell me what you have seen!" And then his power flared, compelling and demanding that I answer him.

Still, I refused to answer.

"You will be mine!" it declared, the voice cracking like a shot throughout everything. "I will have your power! You and the hobbit both!"

Then pain flowed like nothing I had ever before experienced. The torture I suffered in North Korea was a pale imitation to the pain that seemed to course through every pore and every cell of my body. My body shook with the effort to strangle my scream, but soon that effort was lost and my body convulsed as sickening sounds I could not comprehend tore from my body.

My mind was suddenly yanked back into my own body, which ached with the lingering effects of Sauron's dark will. But as my vision cleared, I saw I was crouched over Pippin with him clinging to my midsection just as we had been in our minds. Gandalf's hands were gently grasping both my arm and Pippin's, speaking to us and trying to rouse us.

I released Pippin as Gandalf pulled him into his arms and began questioning him, letting myself fall backwards on my butt as the pain slowly receded from my body. Yet, almost immediately, I was scooped into another pair of arms, Legolas kneeling before me, his arms smoothing over my body as though searching for signs of injury.

Leaning into his warm embrace, I pressed my nose into the crook of his neck, letting his clean sweet musk wash over me and chase away the acrid smell of sulfur that still lingered in my mind.

"Are you hurt?" he whispered in my ear, his voice breaking.

"I'm fine," I assured him, though my voice was hoarse and my throat dry and raw. My mind was slowly resetting itself, and the phantom aches in my body were receding as well, but that was nothing he could help with or change.

"What happened?" Aragorn asked, he and Gimli kneeling beside us and casting worried glances towards Pippin as the hobbit began recounting his ordeal to the wizard.

"It was stupid of me," I told them. "I heard Pippin scream and I ran to grab him and shake him or comfort him, and fell right into his mind and thoughts. I never even considered that that might happen. I just blindly ran to him and grabbed him."

We turned to hear the rest of Pippin's explanations to Gandalf. "—then he gloated over me. I felt I was falling to pieces. And there was such pain, but then it stopped and Lane was there, speaking soothing words in my ears and shielding me." A shudder ran through the hobbit. "Lane! Where's Lane? Is she all right? He started hurting her. Is she alright?" he frantically asked looking around for me.

Before I could respond, Gandalf laid a gentling hand on the hobbit's head. "All right, all is well enough. Lane is here and well enough. Say no more! You have taken no harm. There is no lie in your eyes, as I feared. But he did not speak long with you. A fool, but an honest fool, you remain, Peragrin Took. Wiser ones might have done worse in such a pass," he continued, throwing a pointed look my way. "You have been saved, and all your friends too, mainly by good fortune, as it is called. You cannot count on it a second time. If he had questioned you, then and there, almost certainly you would have told all that you know, to the ruin of us all. But he was too eager to question another. He did not want information only from either of you: he wanted _you both,_ quickly, so that he could deal with you in the Dark Tower, slowly." He turned his attention back to the hobbit he held. "Don't shudder! If you will meddle in the affairs of Wizards, you must be prepared to think of such things. But come! I forgive you. Be comforted! Things have not turned out as evilly as they might."

The wizard bent and lifted the younger hobbit in his arms, returning him to his pallet near Merry. "Lie there and rest, if you can, Pippin," the wizard told him. "Trust me. If you feel an itch in your palms again, tell me of it! Such things can be cured. But anyway, my dear hobbit, don't put a lump of rock under my elbow again! Now, I will leave you two together for a while."

Gandalf walked back over to where I now stood, Legolas's arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders, and he looked me up and down. "And you, my dear, what did he ask of you? What did you tell him?" As he spoke, his eyes narrowed on me.

"He asked who I was. _What _I was. But he knew. Saruman had told him I was a seer. But I'm not a seer. I've told you, that's not how I know things. I just read them in a book," I answered, my arms wrapping around myself at the memory of his voice and power in that place of fire and pain.

"The how of your knowledge matters not. You know of what will come to pass. Your knowledge in his hands could prove disastrous."

"You think I don't know that?" I grumbled.

"What did he command of you?" Gandalf pressed, his voice softening somewhat.

My gaze dropped to the ground. "He ordered me to tell him what I knew. What I saw." I forced my eyes up to meet Gandalf's eyes, resolutely telling him, "But I told him nothing. I said nothing to him, no matter what he did to try to force it from me. You have to believe me."

Gandalf stepped closer again, and as I'd seen him do before, his manner and appearance seemed to change. No longer was he a wizard of frightening power, now his gaze was that of a kindly grandfather as he bent and pressed an affectionate kiss to my forehead, his aged and creased fingers lingering to smooth across my forehead, wiping away the lines of worry there.

"I see the truth in your eyes. I know you told Sauron naught, though you endured much for defying him. Be at ease. You suffered greatly for protecting our young hobbit and it was very likely unwise of you to have done so. Your defiance of him, and at the cost you bore, has told him that Saruman was right in pursuing you. You are not a normal mortal. And now you have caught his eye, too. Foolish," Gandalf said with a shake of his head. "Though for our young hobbit's sake, brave as well."

Gandalf looked up into the eyes of the elf wrapped protectively around me. "Both of you children be at ease. She has suffered no permanent physical damage by her shared encounter caused by Pippin's folly. Go and find what rest you can."

We turned to walk back to our places by the fire as Gandalf returned the palantír to its rightful owner: Aragorn.

I sat and pulled my cloak tighter around myself, my body still shaking with the remnants of the pain that had filled my mind. Legolas knelt and wrapped his own cloak over the top of mine, rubbing his hands up and down my arms to warm me.

"It's all right, I'm not really cold, it's just—"

"It is what?" Legolas asked when I didn't continue.

I shook my head. Not really wanting to answer him, but knowing I shouldn't keep some things from him, even to shield him.

"Just the residual pain and fear from being in that place, I guess."

"What happened? I heard Pippin's screams as I patrolled, and as I reached the clearing where he lay, I saw you bent over him, your body shaking and convulsing as though in pain. And then you too began to scream." His voice caught as he spoke and he pressed his face into the side of my neck, his arms twining almost painfully around me as he clutched me to him. "Such horrific sounds they were, they tore through my heart. I tried to pry you away from Pippin, but your arms were fastened so tightly about him. It was not until Gandalf touched you both that your screams stopped."

I felt the wetness of his tears coating my neck, and smoothed my hands soothingly across his back, gently rocking him back and forth as we clung to each other.

"The sounds of your screams and your pain will haunt my memory," he whispered.

Holding him and offering him comfort for the misery he shared with me did more to help me center myself and pull my thoughts from retreating within my own mind. I couldn't afford to withdraw into myself as I would have wanted to do and might have done in the past. The guilt and terror radiating from Legolas was so palpable, I knew I had to push the memory of Sauron's power and torment away so that I could help Legolas to likewise push it away. If I wallowed in my terror and fear, Legolas would wallow in his guilt. Even if there was nothing he could have done to stop what happened.

I knew the fear would still be there—my mind and body were fighting to send me into another panic attack—but I could unbury it and deal with it later. That fear was too strong to just disappear. Never had I experienced such depth of pain and terror. Never had I known such pain was even possible. And I wanted nothing more than to run from whomever—whatever—was powerful enough to inflict such devastation. Even if it had only been within my mind.

So I held Legolas in my arms. And allowed him to hold me in return. Both of us assuaging our fears and guilts by sharing what comfort we could.

But fate never waits for opportune moments.

A great shadow swooped across the night sky, obliterating the moonlight, and spreading fear and terror across the Rohirrim. The men crouched and cowered from the great winged shape as it wheeled across the sky.

Legolas and I held onto each other until the Nazgûl had finally passed from sight, taking its fear and darkness with it.

"Nazgûl!" Gandalf cried. "The messenger of Mordor. The storm is coming. The Nazgûl have crossed the River! Ride, ride! Wait not for the dawn! Let not the swift wait for the slow! Ride!"

He called Shadowfax to his side, bending to pick Pippin up as he hurried about. "You shall come with me this time. Shadowfax shall show you his pace." He looked up and pinned me in his sight. "And you shall come with us as well. Hurry, gather your things!"

Legolas and I had both sprung to our feet at his first shouts, but now the elf placed himself between the wizard and me.

"No," he declared, his voice hard and unflinching. "I will not allow you to whisk Elaina away from my sight."

"No?" Gandalf repeated. "Yet it is not your choice to make. Already Elaina has drawn unnecessary attention from Sauron, who will send his servants from the Black Lands to search the area for her and the hobbit. Neither is safe to stay here."

I moved around Legolas to see Gandalf better, and his attention focused on me.

"Can you truly say that you wish to continue on the path the others are bound for? To take the way to Gondor that they must?" he asked me.

My eyes narrowed on the wizard. Did he know what Aragorn's path would be? Did he now see such things himself? Or was he merely guessing? Deducing the logical paths from what choice he knew Aragorn would be faced with.

I didn't relish leaving the friends who'd come to mean so much to me, let alone parting from Legolas. It would be a grueling pace to keep up with Gandalf and Shadowfax on the path to Minas Tirith.

But then I considered the path Aragorn would take through the mountains. I shuddered as I thought about the dead that awaited his summons there. My telepathy had cursed me to not only hear the thoughts of the living, but had also damned me to seeing and hearing the dead. And the dead, especially those dark and tormented souls, were something I avoided if I could.

My gaze trailed to Aragorn's bag where I knew the Palantír was stored. I didn't desire staying anywhere near that _thing_ either.

"They both will be safer away from Saruman's sight and in the stone walls of Gondor than here on the plain where Sauron will send his minions to search for them," Gandalf added, and then his voice dropped as he spoke the next words for our ears alone. "It is best for Elaina to depart from the Rohirrim now. Even before the events at the Orthanc, they soldiers of Rohan were suspicious of her. Their suspicions and unease have grown ten-fold with Saruman's lies and now these events."

I glanced around at the wary faces of the men gathered around us and knew Gandalf was right. I couldn't stay and continue to cause such unease. I placed a hand on Legolas's elbow, stalling his arguments. "He's right. I can't stay here where Sauron's going to be looking for me. And the men are freaked out by my presence now. They don't know what to think or believe anymore. I have to go." Seeing the next argument in his eyes, I stepped closer and continued, "No, you've got to go with Aragorn and Gimli. You've sworn to that path, and I won't see you detoured from that promise to them. Besides, we already agreed that it was best we didn't fight by each other's sides. You go; go with Aragorn and Gimli, and I'll be waiting in Minas Tirith for your arrival."

"Are you certain of this?" he asked, his hand closing almost painfully around my arm as resignation settled over him.

"Yeah, Gandalf's right. I can't take the path you'll be bound for. And I can't stay near that _thing _right now. I know the Palantír is Aragorn's by birthright, but after what happened, I honestly just want away from it."

Legolas closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to my own. "Will our destiny be to ever part ways? Each time you are separated from my side it becomes infinitely harder to watch you go," he whispered.

"I know. This isn't easy for me either."

"I don't want you to go," he said, his voice barely audible.

"And I don't want to. But I have to."

He nodded and pulled back from me, opening his eyes and bringing my left hand to his lips, a kiss to the ring he'd placed there and sealing the promise shinning in his eyes.

We would see each other again, it said.

Before he could turn away, I fumbled at my neck to remove the metal chain that hadn't been from my neck since the day I joined the Marines. Unclipping one of the dog tags from the chain, I slid it onto the necklace Galadriel had given me what seemed like ages ago, and held the chain and single dog tag out to Legolas.

"I want you to hold onto this for me," I told him, my voice stressing the importance of my words as I pressed the chain and dog tag into his palm.

"I do not understand," he replied.

"In my country's military, dog tags are very special to a soldier. They're used for identification, but to a soldier, they're a representation of everything we've gone through and everything we've suffered to get to where we are. And by tradition, it's one of the highest honors a soldier can bestow on a loved one to give them one of our dog tags. It means that person will be in our thoughts and hearts while we're gone, but more than that, it's a promise. It's a solemn promise that I'll be back to collect it again." I closed his hand over the chain. "You've given me your token to symbolize your promise, and that's mine. I promise. I'll do everything in my power to come back to you and collect that dog tag again."

Heedless of the watching Rohirrim and Gandalf's impatient noises, Legolas pulled my body flush against his and pressed a lingering kiss to my mouth, his lips insistent and matching every promise and utterance we'd made to each other.

"I shall hold you to your promise," he whispered, his breathing as ragged as my own.

I turned and pulled away from Legolas with the last shred of my resolve, spinning to see that Aragorn and Gimli had already gathered my things and my horse. I had not the heart for goodbyes with them as well, so I quickly swung into the saddle.

Looking back down at them I said, "My old Marine buddies and I always drank a toast to each other in parting, but I have no beer or ale here to toast with. Yet, in the spirit of my mother's family, I'll say part of an Irish parting toast anyway:

So fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

Then gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all."

Raising an imaginary drink to them, I turned and followed the swift pace Gandalf and Pippin were already setting on Shadowfax.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **As always, recognizable dialog is all the work of Tolkien, I just fashioned some of it to fit my twisted mind and imagination!

Well, that's it for book two. Book three will be out as soon as I'm done with the first chapter of it, and the title of that story will be, To Honor. I'll also post a note on this story when the new story is up.

And the title of this chapter is actually the name of a traditional Irish song that is sung at the parting of friends. The verse Lane recites is from the song.

Thanks so much to everyone for following, and especially to everyone for leaving reviews. I really appreciate each and every one.

Thanks again so much! And let me know what you thought!


	6. New Story Up Soon!

The first chapter for _To Honor_ will be out in a few minutes, as soon as I get everything uploaded. Check it out!


End file.
